Sisters
by clinicduty
Summary: A Companion Story to The Full Circle Trilogy. It looks at the life and love of Lisa Cuddy and Greg House through the eyes of their adult daughters, Rachel and Sarah. Told from Rachel's POV, it takes place, after events in Making Amends, but there are delights to be had with scenes from House and Cuddy's life after Making Amends.
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1**

Rachel smiled at the sight of her baby sister, Sarah, approaching the beach house. She hadn't seen her since they'd laid their mother to rest beside their father in Baltimore, just a few weeks earlier.

Lisa Cuddy had passed away at their family home in the same city, nearly fifteen years to the day after Greg House, who to everyone's surprise had died peacefully in his sleep. His heart had simply given out one night, while she'd had to fight in the end — against a cancerous tumor in the kidney.

On her deathbed, she'd said their father would have appreciated the irony at the same time he'd have raged against it. She'd smiled when she'd told them that he would have given her crap about having eaten all that _rabbit food_ when she could have enjoyed burgers and steaks and deep-fried Twinkies.

"He would have hated every moment of this, especially seeing me in pain," she'd said, bemused, eyes glassy with tears. "But he would have given me hell the entire time, just to make me smile. Or irritate me." Her smile had been secretive and tender.

_And he would have_, Rachel thought. That was her dad. And Sarah's dad.

The words _unorthodox_ and _unique_ came to mind whenever she thought of him. Along with some others that their mother liked to call him: _idiot_ and _ass_. He had been bigger than life, a fun dad, but also quiet and wise. He had been a world-famous doctor, and loved music, medicine, motorcycles, and soap operas.

He'd loved their mother.

And their mother had loved him.

_Both of them loved us._

Rachel's memories of them were her comfort now that they were both gone. They had been particularly keen in the last weeks, especially those of their mother.

She had been their father's equal in personality, passion, and intelligence — fierce on all fronts. She had been as competitive, too, and a respected doctor in her own right. She'd been a wonderful mom, supportive and loving, and amazingly compassionate. She'd always listened and made time for her daughters.

Rachel missed her. She missed them both. They had always made her feel safe and protected and loved. She knew Sarah felt the same.

_Sarah. _

Rachel remembered the day they'd asked her if she wanted a little sister. She had been so happy she couldn't wait for her to come home so she could play with her.

Their childhood had been interesting to say the least. The interesting pairing of their parents had guaranteed it.

Their mother had given them tradition and the practical. Their father had given them music and initiated them into pop culture. Everything else came from both of them.

Especially the ability to debate.

Both their parents had both been intensely skilled at discourse that was best defined as _spirited_. They had fought sometimes, but always behind closed doors. The rest of the time, it had been purely playful and, as Rachel had come to understand as an adult, their version of _foreplay_.

To the end, her father had seduced her mother daily with words that had nothing to do with sex. And her mother had adored it whether it had been matching wits over an intellectual or practical subject, or the silliest things even a child had ever heard. She would light up when he came into a room. And it had been the same for him.

_And it had been amazing growing up around them_, Rachel thought as she hugged Sarah close and kissed her on the cheek.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said to her sibling, nearly six years her junior.

"Me, too," Sarah said, pulling back and smiling. Her bright blue gaze moved to the house, behind Rachel, and tears formed.

"They loved it here," she said after several thready breaths and Rachel saw the ghost of memories she'd entertained all day as she'd aired out the place.

They had spent two weeks here with their mother after their father had died. And when he'd been alive, they'd come several times throughout the year, always one week in the Spring and one in the Summer.

"Yes," Rachel said then held out her hand to her sister.

Sarah took it and they exchanged smiles as their fingers linked loosely.

"I can't wait for you to see what I found in storage at mom's," Rachel said.

Sarah looked at her conspiratorially, eyes flashing bright with excitement. "Is it what I think?"

"Possibly," Rachel said, laughing softly. "Come and see."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I know this beginning is jarring, but I encourage you to stick with it. My goal is to craft a unique story of "present" and past, and a view of House and Cuddy through the eyes of the people who lived with them day in and out - how they saw them, how they came to see them as they grew older themselves, and how living with their parents crafted who they become. And rest assured that I could not leave this as solely from Rachel's POV. There are delights to be had with House/Cuddy scenes after the events of Making Amends.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

"We should have let them assemble and deliver."

House looked up at Cuddy as she stood just in front of him. He was sitting on the floor, his prosthetic leg leaned against the side of their bed, a screwdriver in hand.

"If I can operate on the human brain, I can do this," he replied, clearly defensive.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "You're not a brain surgeon."

"I've dabbled in gray matter. I've had other people do it. You let me have other people do it," he argued as he picked up the instructions.

A smile alighted on Cuddy's mouth at watching him. She looked at the crib. It was largely assembled but the front railing wasn't on yet.

"Of course, we could just leave it off, right?"

Cuddy started to turn away but stopped and shot him a look of disbelief. "You can't be serious?"

House's brows drew together in an expression of mock consternation. "Why not?"

"Because it's not safe, you idiot, and you know it," Cuddy said with an exasperated little shake of her head. "Didn't you learn anything when you babysat Rachel?"

He cocked his head. "Yeah. She could lead a prison break. And Wilson was terrible at it. He let her eat money."

A giggle. Cuddy looked over and shook her head.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

…

The video went from an unsteady filming of their parents to a giggle-filled, all out jerky sequence of shots of bare little feet running on wood flooring before going blank.

Sarah laughed as Rachel backed up the video and they again watched their parents' reaction to discovering they were being spied on. Their dad looked decidedly frustrated but their mother's expression had been amused.

"He had no clue."

"Oh, he had a clue. Just not about the crib," Rachel snarked. "He just said it to get her riled up."

"That would be like him," Sarah said as she reached and scooped up some popcorn out of the bowl that sat on the coffee table in front of them. "He _loved_ making her crazy."

They were on the floor, sitting on pillows and leaned back against the couch as they watched the home videos. The windows were open, letting in the breeze and sounds of the surf.

Rachel refilled her wine glass and topped off Sarah's, too. She then met Sarah's gaze.

"You know why, right?"

Sarah smirked knowingly. "I figured it out when I got older."

Rachel shared the conspiratorial expression then set the wine bottle aside

"He really wasn't good at that stuff, though. He could diagnose the craziest set of symptoms or perfectly re-create some of the greatest piano and guitar performances ever, but he _was not_ mechanically inclined."

"Do you remember the bicycle fiasco?"

Rachel snorted. "I thought mom was going to kill him. She made him take them back and let the assemblers sort it out."

"I didn't think he would go," Sarah said. "He was determined to do it."

"He just wanted to do it right, being a dad," Rachel said, smiling fondly at the feelings his dedication to them stirred. "Mom told me once that he was so afraid of screwing things up, of screwing _us_ up."

Sarah frowned. "Why?"

"He didn't have the best example of a dad," Rachel said. Their mom had never shared details but indicated that he'd been abused and generally treated poorly growing up.

Sarah looked at her, clearly wanting more information.

"I never heard any specifics but I've always suspected he was abused," Rachel told her. "I think that was one of their special secrets."

She and Sarah had learned over the years that there were things that their parents never told anyone. It was something only they shared and would never share with anyone else.

"He probably worried about the addiction, too," Sarah said. Her expression had grown sad.

Rachel nodded. "But I'm not sure which scared him more, though."

"Probably the one he hid," Sarah said.

It was a valid observation, and probably correct, Rachel noted.

"He was a good dad," she said. "A better one that I think he ever thought he was."

Sarah hummed in agreement then smiled brightly.

"One thing's for certain, he kept things interesting."

Rachel laughed.

"Now _that_ is an understatement."


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Lisa Cuddy _knew_ she should have checked in with House before she took the girls out to the car.

He'd come in late from work and ducked into their bedroom to change clothes before they went out to a Halloween party at Rachel's school. While he'd done that, she'd taken care of the girls, dressing them up as a pirate and bumble bee. Now she was loading the children into their car seats and gaping at the _disaster_ descending the front steps of their home.

He had combined the Sonny and Cher costumes from Michigan — or ones like them. He had the mustache and furry vest, _and_ the wig and headband. He even had a damned tambourine in his free hand.

"I'm channeling 1965 via 1986," he said when he saw her gaping at him.

"You are not wearing that," she said, laughing despite being totally serious.

Her reaction had the girls giggling. She turned and finished buckling Sarah into her car seat. At two-and-a-half, she was beginning to be a handful, but she was surprisingly easier to work with while her attention was on her daddy. She adored him, just like Rachel, who was laughing like House was the funniest thing she'd ever seen. He loved making them laugh.

"Come on, Cuddy, can't a gimp take a limp down memory lane?"

She looked at him again and saw he was making his way down the stairs carefully. His mobility had increased so much with the new prosthetic, but stairs could still be tricky, which is why he had the cane.

"That's more like nightmare lane," she smirked. "Also, the adults aren't dressing up."

"It's Halloween," he scoffed then looked her over. "Who are you?"

Lisa rolled her eyes. She was wearing jeans, boots, and a sweater.

"I'm me," she said as he closed the distance to the car.

"Are you sure it's not Angelina Jolie? I could totally get on board with that," he said then whispered not very softy, "But you have to promise to wear it later. Old fantasy needs fulfillin'."

"You're an idiot. And a pig," she said before glancing in on the girls then closing the door.

When she turned around, he was standing practically on top of her, causing her breath to catch.

"Jesus, House."

He leaned toward her and kissed her quickly before whispering in her ear.

"Don't worry," he said. "I won't tell Brad."

When he pulled back, he grinned stupidly and opened the passenger door.

The girls' giggles were no longer muted and grew louder when he started singing as he climbed in.

"They say we're young and we don't know…"


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

South Carolina. Charleston.

Rachel remembered the first time she'd come to this place and the happiness. She remembered sandcastles and family photos, games and seeing dolphins. She remembered playing in the surf and hunting for shells with her mother.

Shortly after they'd returned from France, her parents had made an offer on the house they'd stayed at during that Spring Break. Rachel had been so happy when it'd been accepted. She'd loved it here. Still did.

"What's your first memory of this place?" Rachel asked softly on the ocean breeze.

They had stopped watching videos for the night and were now sitting outside on the deck. The moon was high in the sky, highlighting Sarah's profile. They weren't biological sisters, but they favored enough that no one questioned their relationship, or their parentage. Rachel had always secretly liked that.

"Um, Mom taking us for a walk on the beach," Sarah said after a moment. "I think I was maybe three or four."

"Four," Rachel said. She remembered that day, too. They had risen early and came back with a nice little collection of shells. "You found the sand dollar."

"It broke before we could get it to the house. I cried," Sara recalled and began smiling. "Then Dad tried to make one out of a pancake."

"He wanted you to stop crying," Rachel laughed. "He had that scalpel and was hunched over the plate. Mom just rolled her eyes and told him to not cut himself."

They had brought the wine and Sarah tipped her glass up for a sip. When she lowered it, she spoke again.

"He always hated it when she did that," Sarah said, "Question his medical skills and stuff."

"Hate's a pretty strong word. I think _annoyed_ is more apt," Rachel smirked. "But I secretly think he liked it when she called him on his crap."

"That's probably true," Sarah laughed then hopped up from the chair when her phone rang inside. She hopped up and went to answer it. "I'll be back. It's probably Aaron checking in."

"Okay," Rachel said then took a sip of her own wine.

Aaron was Sarah's husband. He was a bit of a worrywart but a nice guy. They'd met in college, married after. They had a couple of kids — six-year-old Jamie and four-year-old Gregory.

Rachel smiled at the memory of their mother's reaction to Sarah calling their son "Little Greg."

"You cannot call him that," their mom had said, laughing.

Sarah had looked at her quizzically. "Why not?"

Rachel had chimed in because she knew why. Her parents were always private when it came to their sex life, but she could remember some stage-whispered things her father said, and _Little Greg_ had meant something between them. And she'd guessed at what when she was about seventeen.

"You just can't," Rachel had told her sister and watched her mother's smile morph into a look shock and disbelief. Rachel had just shrugged and smiled knowingly.

Later, her mother had asked her how she knew. "Dad wasn't exactly subtle. He would bait you with it sometimes. I did the math," she'd smirked.

Her mother's gaze had shone with amusement. "The man was a menace."

"But you loved him," Rachel had said.

"Yes," her mom had said and when her gaze had taken on a faraway look, Rachel had sensed her drifting into a memory. From her expression, Rachel had thought it was a good one, involving _Little Greg_ — a secretive smile had played about her lips and her gaze had darkened just a bit. It had saddened Rachel when it dissolved into a look of longing and loneliness.

"You miss him," Rachel had observed when her mother offered an apology. "In every way."

"Terribly," her mother had replied and given Rachel's hand a squeeze.

If there was one thing Rachel had come to understand as she grew older and ventured into the world as an adult, her parents had been locked in a passionate love affair of the heart and flesh, for years.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

Lisa Cuddy watched her lover from the shadows of their hotel suite in Mont Saint-Michel. He was standing in the doorway of the room where their children slept. He had been in bed earlier but as had become his habit in the last year, he'd risen to check on the two dark-haired, blue-eyed girls.

He was a smitten father. And afraid. Not always but in the still of the night, she knew he sometimes worried about his ability to be a good father to them. He wanted to be and he worked hard to be. She wished she could lay those fears to rest for him, permanently but best she could do was positive reinforcement … and distraction.

Longing for him, to be his distraction, she moved quietly and joined him in the doorway.

"Still asleep?" she whispered.

He made a soft sound of affirmation but his eyes never left the room's occupants. She smiled and waited for him to speak his thoughts. She loved seeing him like this, watching him process his affection for Rachel and Sarah. It revealed so much about his heart — things people would never guess at.

"They're beautiful girls." It was said on a breath, with a hint of awe.

"Yes," Cuddy agreed, her gaze moving to the girls, too. They were both sound asleep, Rachel sprawled across the little bed on her stomach, covers snug around her, while Sarah was in the crib beside the bed.

Closing her eyes, Cuddy could just hear their soft breaths against the faint thrum of the sea outside. Her mother's heart was consumed with peace. She looked back to her lover and found him looking at her now, assessing and gentle.

"You're beautiful," he whispered.

That made her heart feel more things, for him, feeding her longing. She took his hand gently and traced her thumb along his, breathed an invitation that he could not miss.

"Come back to bed."

He glanced once more to their girls then quietly pulled the door closed, but not quite all the way. He left it open just a bit.

The door to _their_ room he closed completely and she shed her nightgown as he stepped close to her. She lifted the hem of his t-shirt and he took it from her and stripped it off. She laid her hands on his chest. He was so warm and she needed him.

It had been a good day but the echo of Wilson's last, bittersweet words had been on her mind off and on throughout the day. He'd seen the _becoming_ of the man before her. The re-emergence of the man who she'd so loved in Michigan and his evolution beyond the intensely troubled one they'd both known in Princeton.

This was House, _her_ House. Past and present, and future. For as long as life allowed.

Leaning in, Cuddy pressed a kiss to his sternum, amidst the small patch of hair there. She felt him tremble. His hands threaded gently into her hair, caressed her head then tilted it back so he could look at her. He looked, just looked and she felt heady with the need and love she saw in his eyes, both for her.

"I love you," she breathed. A heartbeat, then, "I want you."

Cuddy closed her eyes as he bowed to kiss her. Sliding her hands up and her arms around him, she melted against the hardness of his body and into the lush softness of his kiss.

Her body hummed with desire as his hands moved to her back, caressing, holding her secure against him. She felt his erection through his boxers, gently pressed her hips to his and earned a moan.

"Bed," he whispered, pulling his mouth from hers for just a moment.

"Hmmm," she agreed as he kissed her again.

When he released her, she helped him, out of his boxers then lay on the bed. It was a tall bed, which was perfect for what she wanted, what he'd discovered worked for him with the new prosthetic which gave him more stability.

Her ass and feet at the edge of the bed, she watched him come to her, biting her bottom lip at the sight of how hard he was. She trembled and caught his gaze when he laid his hands on her knees then slid them down along her inner thighs, so slow but firm, possessive.

"Yes," she found herself exhaling, liking that, _a lot_.

He caressed her intimately and she moaned softly as she bit her lip again. His thumbs opened her and he bowed and kissed her deeply.

She reached for him, her hands delving through his short hair, mussing it. She always liked how it looked after sex. She liked the prickle of his beard and how he licked and sucked and…

"My love," she gasped as orgasm swiftly approached. She protested when he didn't let her come, murmuring on labored breaths, "Don't tease."

"I'm not teasing," he said as he rose and grasped his erection.

He caressed her with the head and watched what he was doing. She watched him, adoring the look of desire on his face, the lustful affection. Then she shut her eyes when he sank into her, quick and smooth.

"Oh yes … House."

She heard herself and it was practically a purr as he began moving in and out of her. He could not be as vigorous in this position as he'd like, but he could see — something that was important to him. It gave him the dominance he sometimes craved and she was a willing supplicant.

She loved sex with him. All kinds.

"Good?" he asked and she nodded, eyes still closed, back arched so he could continue to hit _that_ spot.

God, it was good. He was good. Always had been.

"I remember," she whispered to him between moans. "You touched me there first."

"I did."

It wasn't smug. It wasn't a pant or gasp. It was an acknowledgement.

She wished he could pound into her right now. She wanted it hard. But they'd need to change positions for that.

"I want more," she told him and he pulled out.

She moved up the bed while he sat on the side and removed his prosthetic. She readied the pillows for him. They'd spent months experimenting until they found the exact placement he needed to leverage his weight. That first time, they'd both come so hard.

"Make me come," she said, running her hands down his chest to grasp his slick erection. He maneuvered his body into position and she guided him … and he pushed back into her hard and quickly.

"Yeah," he groaned and fell into a relentless rhythm. The frame on the old bed creaked with it. She heard the groaning of the wood of the headboard as he gripped it. She heard him breathing hard, and smelled him and them. She watched him. His eyes were closed and his head tipped back. She touched his chest then touched herself.

She moaned deep at the first caress and he looked at her then, then down to where her fingers were working. He all but growled at the sight. She'd known he would. He loved when she touched herself.

He swore, an expletive she only ever heard when he was particularly shaken by the eroticism of them. He said it more than once and told her how sexy it was and that he wanted to fill her.

God, she wanted that and told him so.

"Cuddy," he rasped and looked at her.

She saw his imminent demise and the sight of it sent her desire spiraling to meet him. Her fingers took her the rest of the way and she cried out as he pushed deep and stilled while he pulsed in her.

In the aftermath, he eased and came down to kiss her. Tenderly, so lovingly, she melted again, this time in contentment and satiation.

"I love you," he breathed between kisses and soft caresses to her body here and there.

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I love you."


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

Rachel played her guitar softly, the notes blending with sound of wind and waves.

It was around midnight and she was still out on the deck, nursing a wine from time to time. Sarah had turned in about an hour earlier, leaving Rachel to her thoughts and memories.

Rachel suspected her sister was calling Aaron to talk to him again. After the call earlier, she and Rachel had talked more about their mother and their grief had stirred anew, leading to tears.

A part of Rachel envied her sister the connection to her husband. She herself had yet to marry, not because she wasn't interested but because she'd never found a man who interested her. She wasn't sure that she felt she was missing something in her life, or that she was incomplete in some way. She had male companionship of the physical variety when she wanted it, but she could admit that it would be nice to have someone to come home to regularly, especially after a rough day.

But truthfully, music was her faithful and most desired companion. It had been a gift from her father, and to a lesser extent, her mother. They had made sure she had everything she wanted when it came to exploring her love for it. And medicine.

Whereas Sarah had gone into education, teaching middle school, Rachel had found herself drawn to the world her parents had inhabited. She remembered listening to their conversations at home. At every opportunity, she'd tagged along with her mother to her office, and spent invaluable hours in her dad's study and in his office, watching him work on complex, life-and-death cases.

They had both expressed immense pride in her wish to follow in their footsteps. She'd loved seeing the look on their faces when she'd told them she was applying for the pre-med program at several universities. She ultimately landed a scholarship at University of Maryland.

Her father had passed before she had been accepted into actual med school, but her mother had given her a present he'd already planned for that day: his big book of exotic diseases that he'd had since his days in college. Her mother had also given her his stethoscope, and _her_ lab coat.

Rachel had carried them with her through med school and residency. The lab coat she still wore, but her father's gifts were now displayed in her office at the University of Maryland Medical Center, where she'd just been name head of pediatrics.

Pediatrics, Rachel mused, would have drawn much feigned irritation from her dad, even though he'd encouraged her to choose her own path.

"You can't practice medicine effectively if you're in a speciality you dislike. If you're ineffective as a doctor, people die. Choose what suits you."

He'd said it and meant it, but not in a discouraging way. And her mother had pretty much said the same when it came time for her to start looking at what kinds of patients she wanted to treat, and what courses she liked best.

Truth was, she had liked all of the classes, no one thing had stood out for her, which had put her on track for internal medicine and general practice. Until she'd taken a pediatrics internship one summer and discovered a profound compassion for the young patients.

"That's your specialty then," her mom had said when Rachel came home at the end of the first week.

They had sat in the living room, her mom in the corner of the couch dad had always sat, wearing one of his t-shirts, while Rachel had sat across from her and listened.

"But it won't be an easy one," her mother had told her. "There's nothing more difficult than being confronted with the reality of a sick child as a patient … or your own."

Rachel had nodded in understanding then and she definitely understood now what her mother had told her. It was not easy, but it was rewarding in a way she didn't think any other specialty would have been for her.

The strength of some of Rachel's young patients amazed her. More often than not, they held up better than their parents. Talking to grownups was honestly the hardest part of being a pediatrician, especially in a hospital setting. Private practice was runny noses and vaccinations. The hospital…

"Hey."

The soft greeting interrupted Rachel's thoughts. She looked over to see her sister rejoining her.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked as the screen door creaked.

Sarah shook her head as she came and sat next to Rachel. She leaned her head on Rachel's shoulder with a sigh.

Rachel started to set her guitar aside but Sarah spoke softly, asking her to not stop.

Rachel didn't.


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

A very happy Lisa Cuddy held Rachel's hand as they exited the elevator on the floor that held the Diagnostics Unit at Johns Hopkins University Hospital — House's domain.

They had a surprise for their little girl, one they'd been keeping for the better part of a week as they set up to officially foster Sarah while the adoption process got underway. Her lawyer was a good one who'd called the right people to make it happen quickly. They still had to go through some hoops but essentially, beyond those, Sarah was theirs and it was time for her to meet her big sister.

"Daddy!" Rachel called when she saw House down the hall. He had just stepped out of his office with several members of his team in tow. He glanced toward Cuddy and Rachel then sent his _minions_ off to do his bidding, or so he'd said when they reached him.

"I like Minions," Rachel said. Now six, Minions were one of her favorite things in the world. "They're funny."

"You know what else is funny—" House began but Cuddy shot him a long-suffering look. She had no idea where that conversation was going and she was very ready to see her new little girl and introduce her to Rachel and—

"Let's step into my office," he said instead, ending her internal litany of things she was ready to do. He followed them, limping his way over to his desk. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. "All systems go," he said into the receiver then hung up just as quickly

"Why don't you have a seat in House's chair?" Cuddy told Rachel.

"You have my surprise?" the little girl asked as she climbed into the Eames.

"It's coming, kid," House said as Cuddy went and stood by the door and waited for the nurse.

She was so ready for this moment. She'd meant it when she'd told House that the moment she held Sarah there would be no turning back for her. This last week had been both exciting and intolerable. She'd gone shopping but had had to put things in storage for fear of Rachel finding them. Almost every night, she'd woken and gone to watch Rachel sleep, remembering the pure joy of how she became her daughter.

House, bless him, had come for her every time and taken her back to bed and held her until she fell asleep. They'd talked in the dark about what it was going to mean in terms of changes for their lives logistically and on every other fronts. He had been undaunted by any of it, although he'd playfully squawked about the prospect of putting "the third Cuddy" in their room.

"I really don't think sex education should start that early," he'd teased and she'd laughed.

"We will not be having sex with the baby in the room, House."

"Thank God. The bilge rat called me weird for shaving, I can only imagine what the second mini-you would call me."

"I suspect once she learns to speak, she will call you 'daddy'," Cuddy said and he'd gone silent at that. That moniker and what it meant affected him greatly, and she suspected it always would.

"Two," he said after a few minutes.

"Two," Cuddy had said softly and held his hand.

He wasn't holding her hand now, but Rachel's, sort of. He was sitting on the stool in front of Rachel and they were practicing high-fives. Only he would insist on perfect technique. And she loved it.

Hearing footsteps in the hall, Cuddy turned her attention back to things outside the office, eyes alert. Her heart leapt when she caught sight of the nurse with the baby. She took a step back into the room when the woman reached them and held out her arms to accept her new daughter.

_My daughter._

Cuddy smiled down at the gurgling infant. Her little arms were moving about, a little fist bumping against Cuddy's chest. The warmth and weight and…

Tears welling, Cuddy turned and took the baby into the room. Without a word, House moved from the stool so she could sit.

Rachel immediately smiled at seeing the baby. She scooted right to the edge of House's chair and peered into the pink blanket. Before she could speak, House asked the question. He had wanted Cuddy to do it, but she'd insisted that he have the privilege of that. Sarah was theirs because of his heart's desire. Of course, he asked in a completely _House_ way.

"Like her?"

Rachel nodded.

"Want her?"

Rachel looked up at him, a question swimming in her blue eyes banked against a kindling of understanding that translated into hope. She looked at Cuddy for clarification but it was House who gave it.

"She needs a big sister," he said and Cuddy watch delight blossom across Rachel's face.

"Me!"

Cuddy's heart skipped a beat at the joy she heard in her little girl's voice.

"No, me," House said.

Rachel made a perturbed sound but looked to Cuddy. She had House's number already.

"Can I hold her?" Rachel asked, eyes big and brimming with barely contained excitement.

"Of course," Cuddy said and the nurse stepped up to coach Rachel on how to make a cradle with her arms. When she was done, she stepped back and Cuddy carefully placed Sarah into her big sister's arms. She kept a steadying hand on the baby and her insides filled with a fluttering, maternal joy when Rachel let out a little sound of delight.

Glancing up, she saw House watching the girls … _his_ girls … and felt a wash of deja vu, remembering the day she'd handed Rachel to House as he'd sat in a similar chair in his Princeton office. His gaze met hers and it was so knowing.

_He remembers, too._

"Can I name her?"

"She already has a name, sweetheart. It's Sarah," Cuddy said, her attention returning to Rachel and the baby.

"I like her name," Rachel said then looked down at the gurgling and smiling Sarah. "You can sleep in my room if you want. It has purple curtains."

"House has to put her bed together first," Cuddy told her daughter. He would have put it together before but it was damned near impossible to hide anything from a five-year-old unless it was their toothbrush. It was in storage with all the other things.

Seeing Rachel panic at her answer, Cuddy found herself infinitely glad that they'd waited to tell her until they were sure. She let House comfort Rachel, though, when she looked up at him confused and distressed.

"She can't come?" she asked.

"She's coming kid," House told her, his voice soft and reassuring.

"Now?" Rachel asked tentatively.

Cuddy touched Rachel's cheek and drew her attention. "Yes," she said, offering further consolation. "But she will sleep with us tonight. We'll put her bed in your room when it's ready, if you want."

"I want her," Rachel nodded again.

Cuddy smiled.

"Then what do you say we go home?"

Rachel grinned impishly. "Okay."


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

The smell of coffee and bacon had Rachel making her way from the bedroom to the kitchen. She smiled at the sight of her sister cooking. She was wearing their dad's apron. They'd picked it out for him for Father's Day one year. It had a muscled body print on it.

"Considering gender reassignment?" she said and earned a snort and smile from Sarah.

"I swear you sometimes channel Dad," she said as she tended the food on the stove.

This time Rachel snorted. But she had to admit some of the things she said were echoes of his unique style of speech. But Sarah could be just as bad. And when they fought, they tended to sound like both their parents.

Moving around Sarah, Rachel went to the fridge and pulled out the orange juice and retrieved a pair of glasses. She set out plates, too, as Sarah finished the bacon and started the eggs.

When they were done, she and Sarah sat at the bar, across from one other. Rachel picked up her juice and held out the glass for a toast. She smirked as she gave it.

"To the breakfast of champions."

Sarah clinked their glasses together and they both laughed when she offered an alternative, "To the breakfast of the American Heart Association."

Dad and mom. Their respective labels for dad's favorite breakfast menu.

Neither Rachel nor Sarah had adopted their father's carnivore diet completely. For the most part, they had followed their mother's course, but bacon and eggs remained a frequent favorite.

After breakfast, Rachel and Sarah headed down to the beach. They laid out for a while, read, and talked. For lunch, they ended up going down to the usual shoreline bar and grill.

They sat at one of the tables along the railing so they had a clear view of the Atlantic. They'd seen the body of water from both sides with their parents, she mused. That trip to Normandy had been the start of a Summer globetrotting tradition.

Every year after that, they had picked somewhere to go and went. Italy. Scotland. Ireland. Great Britain. Holland. Scandinavia. Germany. Brazil. Peru. Japan. South Africa. The Caribbean, and about half a dozen other places.

Their mom and dad had particularly enjoyed the two weeks in The Bahamas but neither Rachel nor Sarah had understood their dad's desire to bartend at least two nights while they were there. Not until their mother spilled the beans one night while he was doing just that.

"So he just showed up and took you there?" Rachel had asked with all the awe a semi-romantic seventeen year old could muster. Sarah had just been eleven but old enough to understand her sister's sighing reaction.

"What are you thinking about?"

Rachel met her sister's gaze across the table, realized she was smiling.

"About mom, and when we were in The Bahamas."

Sarah mirrored her smile. "She was very much in love when we were there."

Rachel agreed but… "You were only eleven."

"Time defines things seen by young eyes," Sarah responded.

With a nod, Rachel agreed with that as well, "That's very true."

Rachel looked out at the surf again, saw a flock of pelicans fishing.

"I don't think she ever loved anyone else," she said softly. "There was a guy once, when I was little. I have very hazy memories of him but I couldn't even tell you what he looked or sounded like. I just remember someone."

"Did you ever ask her about him?"

Rachel shook her head, watching the birds dive in formation. "He didn't seem to matter. Dad was _the guy_ for her."

"I never even saw her look at anyone else," Sarah said. "But men sure as hell looked at her."

Rachel cut an amused look at her sister. "Mom was _hot_."

"Do you remember Dad used to call her _smokin'_?" Sarah grinned brightly. "For the longest time, I thought he meant she actually smoked, but I never saw her do it, so I was confused as hell."

Rachel laughed. "I remember. I had to explain it to you."

"When I finally got up the courage to ask," Sarah said. "I hated admitting that I didn't know. You always seemed to, though."

"I knew some. Some I worked it out. Sometimes I just asked Mom," Rachel confessed then smirked. "Dad always ducked those conversations. He'd send me to her for answers to things like that. I figured out later that he did for two of reasons. One, he had no idea how to tell a little girl the answer. Two, it would invariably make mother blush and curse him under her breath."

"House!"

Rachel and Sarah said it in tandem, in a hushed and irritated tone that matched their mother's inflection exactly. Then they laughed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9**

Lisa Cuddy found rainy Sunday afternoons peaceful, especially after a crazy week and busy Saturday. It was a nice slowdown before hopping back into the bustle of work and school.

She loved the sound of raindrops pattering on the porch and windows, especially when it was accompanied by soft notes from the piano in the living room.

House had been in a quiet mood all day, not in a brooding sense. Just quiet, as if deeply content. She loved that he felt that. It was something that had eluded him for years.

Earlier, they'd snuggled close on the couch and watched an old movie while Rachel and Sarah played in the floor. Rachel had been showing her baby sister how to stack blocks and put together wooden puzzles with big pieces.

Eventually, though, the girls had started showing signs of needing a nap. With their moods deteriorating, House made his way over to the piano and played something soft in hopes of soothing their tempers or lulling them to sleep. He had done it before and was usually successful, but not today, prompting Cuddy to take them upstairs and put them down for a nap.

He was playing something lighter now, and she let the carefree tempo ferry her through the household chores. They were easier to do without children underfoot and she found herself embracing the ordinariness of the domestic tasks as she started up the laundry and washed the dishes from lunch.

As she rinsed the last plate and placed it in the drainer, she heard the piano stop after a playful little set of notes. It wasn't but a few moments before House had joined her in the kitchen. She was just finishing up cleaning the sink when he entered and came up behind her.

He wrapped his arms around her waist as she washed and dried her hands, and pressed his hips against her ass without an ounce of subtlety. He was getting hard and she knew it would take little encouragement to make him harder.

He was already smiling when he nuzzled his head against hers, his whiskers prickling deliciously against her cheek. She shivered with pleasure and smiled when he whispered conspiratorially, "So, the kids are asleep. I'm thinking we have about a half-hour to _get it on_."

She hummed in amusement. Sex in the afternoon sounded good to her, especially since the children had interrupted their morning activities before they could really get started.

Catching one of his hands with hers, she laced their fingers then slipped from between him and the counter and headed to the lift.

He followed and was grinning like a fool as he closed the gate. As the lift ascended, he boldly grasped her left breast and she made a soft sound of pleasure as he brushed his thumb back and forth across her nipple, making it rise and press against the fabric covering it.

She leaned forward and met him for a kiss before withdrawing and whispering with a sultry smile, "Hold that thought."

"I'm not really thinking right now," he smirked as the lift stopped.

Turning, she opened the gate and they exited onto the second floor. Cuddy came to a stop, though, when she heard Rachel's voice. It was muffled and soft but she was definitely talking.

_Damn, _she swore inwardly.

"Damn," House swore under his breath.

Releasing his hand, Cuddy walked toward Rachel's bedroom only to realize that Rachel's wasn't in there. Her voice was growing too faint as she moved closer.

She looked down the stairs, but there was no sign of her there. Which left hers and House's bedroom. But Rachel never went in there unless one of them was in the room.

Catching House's gaze, she shrugged and headed to their room. He fell into step behind her but they came to a dead stop at the sight that greeted them when they crossed the threshold.

_Oh. My. God._

Rachel was there alright, on the opposite side of the bed, rocking her sister on … _oh God_ … the assistive sex chair.

Cuddy and House kept it clean and hadn't used it this morning but still…

"I thought you put that away," Cuddy whispered to House only to look over and find him doing an about-face, leaving the room and her holding the bag.

"House!" she swore under her breath then smiled at her daughter who'd noticed their arrival and was beaming brightly and innocently.

"I'm rocking her to sleep, Mommy!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 10**

"You were the best present ever," Rachel told her sister, smiling as they walked along the beach, back toward the house. It was late afternoon, the sun on a steady trek toward the horizon behind them.

Sarah snorted. "Right. It couldn't possibly have been the Mustang for your sixteenth birthday."

"It wasn't _that_ special," Rachel responded as she enjoyed the shift of heated sand beneath her feet.

The car had looked good and ran well, but hadn't been new by any means. Her parents had insisted she learn the value of money while also being safe. It's what grandmother had done for her mother, or so Rachel'd been told, The car make had been a concession to her father's desire that it at least be _cool_.

"It was a convertible," Sarah countered. "My first was a coupe."

"It was still a Mustang, and convertibles in Baltimore are only feasible a few months out of the year," Rachel said before turning the conversation back to what she'd been saying before. "But seriously, you were an amazing gift. I'd never really thought about having a brother or sister. I didn't even have a dad for a long time."

And she hadn't. It wasn't until House had returned to their lives that she'd had a man truly play that role in her life — albeit in some of the most peculiar ways. That made him a gift, too, not to mention her mother's initial gift of her love and home.

"I forget that sometimes, the dad thing," Sarah said. "I don't remember a time he wasn't in my life. I was too young to remember the first family."

Wind buffeted them, causing the loose material of Rachel's shirt to billow and flutter.

"Life is strange," Rachel said softly. "We're both here, sisters, because tragedy befell other people and Mom was there to take us in."

"That was the real gift," Sarah said, giving voice to Rachel's thoughts of moments ago.

"Yes," Rachel said. "And so was Dad."

_Although the circumstances of his presence were more complicated._

When Rachel had turned eleven, her parents had started telling her little things here and there, leading her toward asking the question of why House had been gone from their lives for those two years. When she'd finally asked, they'd been honest and she'd watched shame consume him over what he'd done and his confession to being an addict.

It had been so hard to believe and Rachel hadn't really grasped the whole of it until later. But not once, even later, had she ever felt the desire or need to punish him for it. She been confused for a while but she'd never felt angry or disappointed in him. The man she'd known had been nothing but good to her. He'd just loved her and that mattered more than anything.

He had been so relieved when she'd just hugged him and told him she loved him. He'd held her so tight and it'd taken him some time to be able to speak and tell her the same.

Rachel wasn't sure what all Sarah knew about it other than their dad had gone to prison and was an addict. But by Rachel's reckoning there had been no real need for her to know every single detail since she hadn't been a part of their lives then. It would have likely been more confusing for her without the same frame of reference.

For Rachel, he'd been in her life one day then gone the next. Her_ bloody scalawag_. She'd missed him and so had her mother, whose forgiveness of him had made possible everything that Rachel knew. And good had come out of his actions even, terrible as they were. They'd put them all on a course for their lives to intersect with Sarah's.

Without her, Rachel would have missed out on the joy of sibling and friend to whom she would always have a connection. Without her, and the open hearts of her mother and father, she would be alone right now and the thought of that…

Reaching over, Rachel took hold of her sister's hand and spoke softly, from her heart, her words audible over the brisk ocean breeze.

"I'm glad you're with me."

Sarah squeezed her fingers.

"Me, too."


	11. Chapter 11

**Part 11**

The sound of a baby fussing woke Cuddy from a sound sleep.

Sarah was pretty good about sleeping through the night, usually only waking up once for a feeding or a change, sometimes twice if she'd napped too long in the afternoon. When she did wake, Cuddy or House always tried to get to her quickly so she didn't get wound up enough to wake Rachel.

Rising, Cuddy went to take care of her, but noted House's side of the bed was empty. He had been working on a case from the office upstairs when she'd turned in after putting the girls down. She figured he was still working up there since the covers weren't mussed.

Cuddy knew that's where he was when she stepped into the hall and heard Sarah's soft cries coming from upstairs. They stopped while Cuddy was on her way up to the office.

She paused in the doorway and smiled at the sight of House standing by his whiteboard with their youngest girl on his shoulder. He was rubbing her back in circles as she tucked her head in the crook of his neck.

Sarah, like Rachel, had taken to him quickly. He still found himself surprised by that but he was adapting. He was a good father.

Hearing another sound, a snuffling of sorts, Cuddy searched the shadows of the room and shook her head in amusement when she saw their other daughter sleeping on her stomach on the couch, one arm and one leg hanging off the side. House's sport jacket was haphazardly thrown over her, as if she had covered herself with it.

Rachel. She still found him in the night. Cuddy wondered if she'd alerted him to Sarah or if she'd been in the room already. Either was likely.

Easing from the doorway, Cuddy stopped by the couch and better covered Rachel before moving to him. He looked over at her as she approached.

"You look exhausted," she observed.

He didn't comment, but he did hand Sarah off when she reached for her. The little girl fussed a little but quieted quickly as Cuddy held her as House had and patted her back gently.

"Did you see your other guest?"

He let out a little sound. "She walked in here like a zombie, laid down, pulled my jacket off the couch, and went right back to sleep."

Cuddy smiled at him. "She's a daddy's girl."

"Either that or she's a sleepwalker."

"If so, she'd do it all the time," Cuddy said. "But she only does it when you're working."

He looked at Sarah. "She wasn't hungry and didn't need a change."

"Probably separation anxiety. She may have heard Rachel get up," Cuddy said softly, adding to herself, _or maybe she just missed her daddy_.

Laying her hand on his chest, Cuddy confessed, "I'm having a little separation anxiety myself. You where you can come and try to rest for a while?"

He nodded but said, "I don't know if I can sleep."

She moved her hand up to brush her fingers across his temple. "Crowded?"

"Yeah," he said, his gaze returning to the white board. He frowned at it.

Sensing his frustration, Cuddy laid her hand on his arm. "Let's put the girls back to bed," she said quietly, "Then we'll see about a distraction."

His gaze returned to her, his expression one of gratitude.

"Okay."

Cuddy waited until he had gathered up his phone then Rachel before heading back downstairs. He took the lift while she took the stairs.

Once the children were resettled, he caught her by the hand and they went to their bedroom. There, he sat on the side of the bed and slowly undressed.

"You want a shower?" she asked.

"Sounds good," he said.

Cuddy went and ran the water so it would warm. He came in while she was setting out a towel. He set his phone on the counter then sat on the tub stool and took off his prosthetic and sock. She took them and put them just inside the bedroom.

She watched him use the special railings and move expertly into the shower.

"I'll keep an ear out for the phone," she said but he asked her to join him.

She did, happily stripping down and slipping into the stall with him. She had promised him a distraction and he accepted it in the currency of touch, as he so often did. He gave, too, his hands moving tenderly over her body as she touched his, seeking to soothe away the tension and worry that had settled into the muscles of his neck and shoulders and back.

When he tilted his head back and looked up at her, she kissed him softly. He let her wash his hair then, and dry him off once they were out of the shower. He laid down in the bed with her and she snuggled against his side.

Kissing the top of her head, he whispered his thanks.

"You're welcome," she said softly and caressed his chest, hoping the continued contact would relax him further. He really needed to sleep, but she had a feeling he wasn't going to. His thoughts were occupied still. She'd thought with his case until he spoke.

"I wanted it today."

"Wanted what?" she asked, confused and yet… "Vicodin," she said softly in answer to her own question.

When he didn't respond right away, Cuddy knew she'd guessed rightly. She drew back from him, but only far enough to look at him without rising up. She wanted to keep contact with him, not wanting him to think her movement was anything other than a way to meet his gaze as he turned his head toward her.

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't know."

He looked terribly confused, telling her his answer was honest.

"We're okay," he whispered. "_Here_ is okay. Work is okay." He shook his head. "I don't know."

Cuddy heard his frustration and was concerned that he had not only wanted the drug but could not pinpoint as to why. Her heart hurt for him.

"Did you do anything about it?" she asked, hating that she needed to.

"No," he said without offense. "The girls… You… I didn't want it more than you."

At that answer, she gave him an understanding smile and touched his cheek.

"What do you want to do?" she asked softly.

"Call Nolan," he sighed and she felt tension leave him at saying the words aloud.

"I think that's a good idea," she said then encouraged him. "Thank you for telling me."

He just looked at her, said with hushed conviction, "I love you."

Those words… There was a time when he wouldn't have said anything until it was catastrophic, or she figured it out for herself. Or he would have not told her because he was afraid of how she'd react. They'd come a long way since Princeton.

"I love you," she said, brushing the backs of her fingers along his cheek before rolling onto her back.

"Come here," she whispered, patting her chest lightly.

He came to her without pause, again accepting the comfort she offered as he shift until he was laying his head where she'd touched. She wrapped her arms around him and ran her fingers through his hair, loving filling her.

He was so vulnerable at times, still, fragile more than he'd ever been in Michigan. But she could tell that man was coming back to her, her House. Older and wiser, but coming back and moving well beyond who he'd become in Princeton under the influence of pain and drugs.

Things were better for him now, for them, and she wanted them to stay that way. So she'd support him and help him however she could. For now, he rest was a priority and she encouraged him to do just that.

"Sleep," she breathed as she raised her head enough to kiss the balding crown of his head. "Just sleep."

He did. And so did she.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part 12**

Rachel woke up in a cold sweat, sitting bolt upright as the images from her dream pushed her abruptly from sleep.

God, she hated that dream. She hated it, hated it, hated it.

In it, her father was taken away and put back in prison. She'd begun having it after she'd learned of his past incarceration. There was no reason in the dream for why he was being jailed again. There never had been. But the despair was always the same — hers, Sarah's, her mother's, and his. It was agonizing, leaving her heart aching and pounding in her chest.

Thankfully, it was an infrequent dream but she surmised that's why it was so, well, _arresting_ when she did have it.

The first few times, she'd sought out her parents and found them sleeping soundly in the bed. But just seeing them hadn't been enough, prompting her to wake her mother. They would sit up for a while, have a cup of tea then go back upstairs.

"He's okay, honey," her mother had soothed as she sat on the side of Rachel's bed. Her blue eyes had been so full of love and compassion as she'd run her fingers lightly through Rachel's hair. "He's not going anywhere. Now get some sleep."

That little while with her mother had always settled her and allowed her to go back to sleep peacefully. Then one night Rachel'd had it and her father had still been awake, working in his office upstairs on some case. She'd made her way up there that night and found herself smiling along the way. According to her mother, when Rachel had been little, she'd had a habit of getting out of bed and wandering up to the office, where she'd fall asleep on the couch while he worked.

That night of the dream, though, she'd been fully awake and twelve years old, and she'd sought his comfort instead of her mother's. He'd been surprised at her arrival, not that she'd blamed him. She had just walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around him while he was staring at the whiteboard.

She'd told him about the dream and he'd looked ashamed again. But he'd assured her, as her mother had, that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Everything's okay, kid," he'd said then hugged her and kissed her brow and told her she should go back to bed. In response, she'd asked him if she could sleep on the couch like she had when she was little. He'd looked amused at her request, but she'd noted it made him happy that she'd asked.

"Yeah," he'd said and covered her with the throw blanket from the back of the couch. He'd then shut off all the lights in the room except for the one on his desk. He'd sat there and resumed staring at the board, and she'd closed her eyes and fallen asleep.

Rachel didn't have the dream for a long time after that time, but when it had happened again, she'd been able to calm herself and go back to sleep, though it had sometimes taken a while.

Tonight was the first time she'd had it in a few years. She thought it was kind of silly considering he'd died fifteen years ago, but she knew that dreams were products of the subconscious, and she and Sarah had spent the last day talking about him and their mother. The memories and grief were bound to rattle loose some things, even out-of-date nightmares.

Rising, Rachel went to the bathroom and washed her face. Then she stripped down and climbed into the shower. Lukewarm water washed the sweat away and helped cool her body. After, she dressed in a fresh nightshirt and shorts and went to the kitchen to fix a glass of ice water. She was on her way back to bed when she noticed her sister sitting in the darkness, on the couch by the open window.

Sarah's back was to her and she was looking outside.

Changing course, Rachel went to join her sibling, asking softly as she neared, "You okay?"

Sarah glanced up at Rachel then looked out again, saying softly, "Just thinking."

Rachel sat at the opposite end of the couch and pulled her feet up. She smiled when she noted Sarah sat similarly. _Like mother._

The steady beat of the waves on the shore had Rachel looking outside, too. It was otherworldly at night and strangely more peaceful than in the day. Under the moonlight, Rachel could make out the foaming edges of waves on the sand and the white caps of cresting swells farther out. She watched the hypnotic dance in quiet with her sister until Sarah eventually broke the companionable silence.

"Did you find it weird that they never called each other by their first names?"

Rachel smiled and laughed softly. "It was weird, but it was also _them_."

"People always looked at them strangely," Sarah said. "I remember a parent-teacher meeting once when the teacher actually asked them about that, concerned about how you and I might be developing socially because of it."

"Are you serious?" Rachel said. She'd never heard this story. "That's the most asinine thing I've ever heard. I can only imagine what Dad had to say."

"Oh, it was great," Sarah said with a bright grin then proceeded to impersonate their father, pretty accurately. "I've been calling Cuddy 'Cuddy' for more than a quarter century. I don't see that changing because _you_ think 'we might want to think about how it affects the children'." Sarah made quotes with her hands.

"There's no way he stopped there," Rachel said, smiling, her father's voice so perfectly coming to mind.

"Oh no, that was just the windup," Sarah said then resumed doing her impression of their dad. "The only problem I see is… Oh, wait, there isn't one. Unless the kid has started calling you something other than _Ms. Stonewald. _Which I doubt. Because she isn't the one in this room with respect issues. That would be you. Sometimes me. Never Cuddy or the mini-Cuddys. You just give her _a good schoolin'_, we'll do the childrearing."

Rachel just loved that, learning a new memory, and listened as her sister told her that their mom had taken over from there and smoothed out the ruffled feathers, like always.

"But she backed up Dad every step of the way like she always did it. I was really proud to be their kid that day," Sarah said.

Rachel'd had days like that herself but she knew that hadn't been the end of it for their dad. "I'll bet he called Mom 'Cuddy' about a thousand times on the way home."

Sarah laughed. "He did. It drove her nuts. She finally shut him up when we got home by kissing him."

"That always worked," Rachel said of their mother's tactic to silence their father's inane verbal onslaughts. "Eventually."

"They were different," Sarah said after a few moments. "I would go to other kid's houses for sleepovers, and the kids were left to themselves, which usually meant trouble of the sort I didn't want. Or there would be fighting. Sometimes it was the parents who were fighting and I wouldn't feel safe or comfortable. Everyone would talk about how much fun it was, but it wasn't always."

"I called them to come get me a few times," Rachel said, agreeing with her sister. "Whenever I did, we'd end up staying up late and eating crap we shouldn't."

"I think I remember those nights. Pizza, ice cream, cheese dip and chips," Sarah said, smiling. "And Dad would turn up the stereo and we'd _rock out_."

Rachel remembered those nights well, and that her mother had often sat in the corner of the couch watching them all, a smile on her face, her laugh boisterous, and always, always her expression one of adoration when she looked at their father.

"I miss them," Rachel said, her voice wavering, tears pricking her eyes. She looked at Sarah when she reached out and laid her hand on her arm, and offered her commiseration.

"Me, too."


	13. Chapter 13

**Part 13**

"I'm here."

Cuddy looked at her lover in worry as she entered his office. He was hurting. It was the first time he'd felt the phantom pain in months. As his stump had continued to heal, the incidences had fallen off sharply. Even maneuvering his way around a pair of kids hadn't brought it own.

She'd been so happy about that, but found it surprising that she was surprised when it did happen. It's almost as if she'd forgotten what he'd dealt with so many years. And yet she hadn't.

She had been downstairs in her office at Johns Hopkins, when he'd paged her 505. It had been their code for his needing pain medicine. He didn't handle those of any sort these days. He left it to his team with patients, and to her when _he_ needed it.

Currently, he was laying in his chair, scolding his team through clenched teeth. They were standing across the room, clearly shocked at what they were witnessing. While their surprise was understandable since they'd never seen him in that state and didn't know how much pain he'd been in before the amputation, their gawking wasn't helpful. It was a source of agitation, which is why she promptly and sternly told them to get out.

They left with haste and House looked at her with gratitude but couldn't resist a playful dig. "The shrew has not yet been tamed."

She snorted. "And you're still an ass," she said then asked him if he needed help with his jeans.

"You promising a happy ending?" he shot back as he began unbuckling his belt.

"Depends on if it's reciprocal," she said.

"Not here it won't be," he said, as she'd expected. "Nobody gets to see _that body_ but me."

She had to admit his possessiveness was always amusing. Sometimes it was a turn on, too. Now was one of those times. When it came time to shift his weight to maneuver his jeans down enough for her to reach his thigh, she assisted then handed him the packet with the alcohol wipe. He swabbed the area while she prepped the syringe then gave him the shot.

He didn't move right away to re-situate his clothing so she took his jacket off the back of the chair and draped it over his lap. When he looked at her, she smiled gently. "No one gets to see _that body_ either."

He liked that. She saw it in his eyes and in the slight easing of his features.

"Can I get all access later?" he asked, his breath still coming labored.

"What do you think?"

"You're the perfect woman, Cuddy," he said then, love saturating every tense syllable.

"For you, yes," she said then closed up the kit. She would dispose of the syringe once she left. For now, she settled onto the floor beside him and laid her hand on his arm, offering him what support she could while the medicine took affect.

"You don't have to stay," he said.

"I've got nowhere else to be," she said. It wasn't really true, but he let her get away with the lie.

"Thank you."

He whispered the words then other words later that evening, after they were home and he was getting ready to turn in. He had already bathed and was sitting on the side of the bed, wearing only a towel around his waist. His blue eyes held hers as she moved close, between his thighs. His prosthetic was in its usual place already.

Taking his face into her hands, she bowed and kissed him gently. She tenderly stroked her fingers through his hair, down along his neck to his shoulders as her mouth caressed his breathily.

"I know you're tired," she said softly, "But if you still want all access," she breathed. "It's a sash away.

He smiled against her mouth and whispered softly.

"I'm not sure I'll ever be tired enough to pass that up," he said. She raised her head when he added. "But it may only be show and tell. Little Greg is probably down for the count after today."

She smiled in understanding, caressed his jaw, then lowered her hands to the sash on her silk robe. It was a dark blue and hit her mid-calf. The knot in the sash gave way easily to her fingers and she let it flutter down and out of the way. She kept her arms at her sides while his hands came up and slowly moved the material aside, delicately coaxing the material to frame her body. His fingertips skimmed her skin as he went about it and she shivered at the sensual, reverent contact.

She watched him as he looked at her body. He liked what he saw and she liked how he reacted, his hands smoothing around her body to her back and drawing her impossibly closer. The first brush of his lips to her skin had her sighing his name. The second had her caressing him again. The third…

"You're beautiful."

His breath rushed across her skin in little puffs, each syllable a tactile sensation that she felt far deeper in her body, and her heart. He was the only man who'd called her beautiful that she believed truly meant it, in every way.

"I love you," she said in response then slipped her fingers down to his waist and the towel tucked there. She felt a sense of deja vu as she did, recalling another time when she'd…

"I just want to feel you," she told him when he looked up at her in question. And that is what she wanted, just to touch him, to feel him.

He let her, his eyes falling shut as she opened the towel then skimmed her fingers over his inner thighs and sex. Little Greg responded, but not enthusiastically, telling her exactly how much today's round with pain had taken out of him. But she didn't stop her attentions, she caressed him as his hands resumed their caress of her.

He traced her curves with fingertips and palms. He kissed her breasts. She moved her hands over other parts of him, his chest and arms, his back as he suckled her.

It was pure and beautiful, an expression of love. It tapered gradually until they were left kissing tenderly and whispering "I love yous."

"Ready to sleep?" she asked when his hand settled loosely on her hips.

He nodded and she saw a bit of apology in his eyes and thought he might give it voice. She touched his temple gently and shook her head. "Don't apologize."

He smiled a wily little smile and playfulness replaced apology.

"My morning wood is yours," he said, making her smile, too.

"Sweet talker," she teased then laughed when he replied.

"Tree hugger."


	14. Chapter 14

**Part 14**

The sun was rising, casting a brilliant glow across the face of the ocean, making it appear as if it were fire instead of water.

Rachel took in the sight as she ran with her sister along the beach. There were a few people out looking for shells, but for the most part, they had the stretch of sand to themselves. It was hard work. The firm, shifting surface beneath their feet required almost twice as much effort as on flat ground. But she didn't mind. She enjoyed the challenge, the exertion releasing endorphins that lightened her heart.

Last night had been a rough one. After a good cry together, she and Sarah had ended up sleeping in the living room, each of them staking out a couch. The morning had brought a better mood, but they'd been quiet as they stirred about and dressed for the run.

Rachel was feeling better and hoped her sister was. When they reached their turnaround point, she was prepared to ask her but Sarah had a question herself and voiced it first.

"What was his pain like before?"

_Dad._

"Before the amputation?" she clarified.

Sarah nodded.

That was a hard question for Rachel to answer. While she remembered House in her life before Baltimore, she didn't remember everything from that time and what she did remember was from a child's perspective, without the nuanced recall of an adult.

"When we were in Princeton, I can't really say," Rachel said in answer. "I was three when we left but I remember that he hurt, a lot."

Rachel began stretching her quadriceps as she continued. "As a doctor, I'd have to say it was at times intolerable. Nerve pain is hard to quantify but the removal of the muscle tissue would have been incredibly traumatic to the nervous system in that area. Using the leg would have had direct impact on the nerves themselves. The prospect of moving at all on some days would have been daunting."

Sarah frowned and mimicked Rachel's stretch.

"And when he came to Baltimore?"

"He was in absolute agony," Rachel said without equivocation. She might have been only five, but she'd seen it clearly in his face and in how slowly and carefully he moved. She remembered very well that it had broken her little heart to see it. All she'd wanted to do was make it better, and she'd put her faith in her mother to do so.

"Ironically, he was substantially better after the amputation," she said. "I honestly think he regretted not having it done initially, despite the different pain of healing and learning to walk again."

"And running?" Sarah asked.

Rachel stopped her stretches. She had been nearly eight when their father received the prosthetic that gave him back that part of his life. At two, Sarah did not remember those early days of him resuming that activity. But Rachel remembered his first attempts and how painful the'd been, but then he'd taken the first real run…

"It hurt," she said, "But the sheer joy of being able to do it again outweighed the pain. Mom said it did and I watched him wince and smile with every step."

Sarah sighed. "I wish I could remember that."

"You remember the most important part," Rachel assured her. "We both do. Dad healthy and happy, able to take runs with Mom, and us as we got older. He didn't have that before, not for a really long time."

"I know," Sarah nodded then smiled. "Mom loved it."

Rachel smiled, too. "She remembered him from before everything happened to him, so she was ecstatic to see him reclaim that. I can only imagine what it felt like for him, after so many years of thinking his life would be nothing more than pain and a limp."

"It must have felt amazing," Sarah said.

"Yes," Rachel agreed as she resumed stretching. "It must have."


	15. Chapter 15

**Part 15**

Lisa Cuddy smiled as she watched House play Operation with Rachel and their cousins. He was a pro at the game, played it perfectly, but for the children, he was pretending to mess up and made funny faces whenever the buzzer would go off.

Sitting in the corner of the couch in her sister's living room, Cuddy was holding their youngest daughter, who for some unfathomable reason, was sleeping through the insanity playing out several feet away.

Julia and her husband were sitting beside the fireplace watching the antics, too, smiling even.

Cuddy had been surprised at the invitation to come to Hartford for Hanukkah. She'd been nervous at first, unsure what would greet them, but Julia had assured her it wasn't "an ambush" and they were _all_ invited.

House had been hesitant, but Rachel had overheard them discussing it and displayed an amount of enthusiasm that guaranteed his acceptance. Despite the fact he said he was going to feel like an utter hypocrite since he was an atheist. After the girls were down for the night, Cuddy had told him he'd survive without getting struck by lightning.

She hadn't promised him that he'd survive the incessant attention from the children. He'd brought them all yo-yos and given them as gifts. She had no idea when he'd bought them, but it had been an olive branch and he'd taught them all the basics.

Cuddy was sure one of them would ask him to play music for them, too. Rachel had begged him to pack their guitars, so they sat just inside the living room, out of the way but at the ready.

One more buzz of the game and House pretended to have a seizure, jerking and pulling faces, making funny sounds. Rachel thought it hysterical and laughed at him and but told him after a minute, "Stop it, Daddy. Show them how you really play."

To which he'd sat up and looked at her. "Are you sure?"

Rachel nodded and quickly put the other pieces back in. She then hopped up onto her knees and told her cousins, "Watch this."

_Watch this, indeed_, Cuddy mused, remembering the first time she'd played the game with him. He was absurdly good then and he was as just good now, maybe even better. He asked Rachel to time him as he took off his watch and gave it to her.

"Say when," he said, poising himself over the game with the little tweezers.

"Go!" Rachel said and giggled as he plucked out piece after piece at a quick pace, not a sound coming from Cavity Sam. The kids watched him in awe and a glance at Julia and David pegged them as impressed.

"Time," House said as he set the tweezers beside the little pile of parts.

"I don't know," Rachel giggled and he made another face at her as the other kids dissolved into laughter, too.

Sarah stirred at the burst of amusement and fussed. House looked at Cuddy and she just smiled at him as she comforted the child, who was nearly a year old now. Then he was distracted by Rachel, who was promptly climbing into his lap and giving him a big hug and asking him if he would play her song.

Glancing at his watch, which he picked up from the coffee table where Rachel had lain it, he said, "For a lullaby. Then it's bedtime for you, bilge rat."

"Daddy," she pouted but he shook his head. "That look only works on your mother."

Cuddy snorted. He was the one with the weakness to Rachel's pouts.

"No, it doesn't," Rachel said, setting him straight and making him laugh.

"Guitar or piano?" he asked.

"Piano," Rachel said with a smile.

House looked over at Julia and David then. So did Cuddy. David responded by telling the kids to put the games away and come sit by the fire to listen.

Rachel helped her cousins as House pushed himself up onto the couch then put his prosthetic back on. Around the house, he tended to wear shorts or pajama bottoms so that he could put on or take off the artificial limb quickly and easily; he had on the latter now. Her nephews and niece had been wide-eyed at seeing the limb and then watching him take it off. The boys had found it cool.

Once he had the prosthetic on and secured, he grabbed up his cane and stood. It was helpful when getting up from sitting positions, especially from the popular style of low couches her sister had.

He made his way over to the piano while the kids finished cleaning up. He lifted the cover on the keyboard and touched the keys lightly, playing a soft little impromptu composition. Then, when Rachel came to sit by him on the bench, he played her song, slowing the normal tempo, turning it into a definite lullaby.

When he was done, Rachel kissed him on the cheek then hopped down from the bench and asked him to tuck her in.

"Okay," he said.

As Rachel came over to Cuddy to hug and kiss her goodnight, Cuddy heard Julia and David summoning their children then sending them upstairs.

House reached for Sarah and Cuddy looked at him in question. "I've got her," he said and wondered if the offer was more than helping her, but a way to avoid Julia.

Their interactions of the day had been few and awkward, but her sister was making an effort. He had just tried to stay out of her way, though, not wanting to trigger anything.

Whatever the reason, if it was that or just the desire to put both their children to bed, which was entirely possible, she carefully handed off Sarah to him, and he followed Rachel upstairs.

While he did that, Cuddy rose to help her sister pick up the various mugs around the room. Hot chocolate had been a treat before everyone started playing games.

"You really surprised me," Julia said as they set them in the sink.

Cuddy looked at her sister in question.

"Sarah," Julia explained. "I don't know why, but I hadn't thought you would take on a second child."

Cuddy could have bristled at the comment but she didn't because it hadn't been made with the condescension that Julia might have imparted in the past.

"I hadn't either," Cuddy confessed. "But she needed a home and House wanted us to give her one."

"He did?"

Hearing and seeing Julia's surprise, Cuddy smiled.

"He's enjoying being a father," she said simply. "And the girls love him."

Julie nodded then gave Cuddy one of her sisterly smiles; it was wily and secretive.

"They're not the only ones."

Cuddy couldn't deny that. "No," she said. "But that's not a new development. I've loved him since I was eighteen."

Julia went stock still, her eyes searching Cuddy's. Then an exclamation.

"He was the guy!"

Cuddy laughed. She'd talked to Julia about House when they were together. She'd even mentioned that she first met him at Michigan. But she hadn't realized her sister hadn't figured it out that House was the man she'd been seeing in college.

"Yes," she said. "How did you not pick up on that?"

"Well, he's so much older than you," Julia said.

Cuddy snorted.

"Seriously, he had to have been leaving when you were starting," Julia said, eyes still wide.

Feeling the wicked need to shock her sister further, Cuddy dropped a bombshell.

"We had a torrid love affair for nearly a year and a half," she said with a saucy smile.

"Oh my God," Julia said, her mouth dropping open. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I honestly thought you'd figured it out," Cuddy said. "Aunt Ruth did."

"What? When?" Julia asked confused.

Smirking, Cuddy said, "Remember Thanksgiving of '87?"

"Yeah."

"Every night, he snuck in my window and slept with me," Cuddy said.

Julia's mouth dropped open again. "He did not."

"He did," Cuddy said then proceeded to tell her that Aunt Ruth had seen him leaving Thanksgiving morning and kept it secret.

"Mom never knew?" Julia asked.

Cuddy shook her head. "Not that I know of. And I can't imagine her _not_ letting me know if she did."

Julia turned on the water in the sink and let it warm.

"So you were … having sex with him?"

Laughing, Cuddy reached past her sister and put the plug in the drain.

"It wasn't quite like that," Cuddy said. "We did have sex, but we talked and slept for the most part."

"Mom would have killed him, and maybe even you," Julia observed.

"That's why Aunt Ruth didn't tell anybody," Cuddy said then related the romantic story her aunt had told of her beau who hadn't come home from war.

"I would have never taken her for a romantic. I always thought she was off her bean," Julia said.

"She wasn't," Cuddy said.

Shaking her head, Julia turned her attention to the mugs and began washing them after putting some soap into the hot water. She went quiet but spoke again when she handed off the first mug to Cuddy to be rinsed and dried.

"You know, this actually explains a lot," Julia said. "I had always wondered who the guy was, and knew that whoever he was, he had changed you. You were different after that first year. Even more focused than before. Mom noticed it. I think that's why she quit riding you so hard."

"He saw me before I saw myself," Cuddy said, recalling her memories of the months after House left Michigan. "He was my first love," she said softly, then, "He has been my _only_ love."

"Is that why you hired him?"

"And why we tried in Princeton. And why I could forgive him for everything that happened," Cuddy told her only sibling. "I never really forgot who he was, no matter how much he changed. The man I knew, who loved me with every fiber of his being and who I loved just as intensely, never left. He was just lost."

Cuddy blinked against the sting of tears.

"But he's not lost any more," she said. "The man you see now is the man I fell in love with when I was little more than a girl. He's older, wiser, and a leg short but he is again the friend and lover I found at Michigan."

"And a father now," Julia said, her expression the softest it'd ever been when discussing House.

"Yes," Lisa smiled. "A loving, happy, and playful one."


	16. Chapter 16

**Part 16**

"I think Dad enjoyed Halloween more than we ever did," Rachel observed as she and Sarah looked through family photo albums.

They were presently looking at one of their dad dressed as a pirate, complete with an eyepatch and parrot on his shoulder. He was flanked by Rachel and Sarah, dressed similarly. He always insisted on taking them trick or treating in the neighborhood. Their mom usually followed and took pictures.

"I think Mom sometimes felt she had three kids," Sarah snorted.

Rachel laughed. "I heard her say something of the sort a time or two."

On the turn of the page, both sisters laughed.

It wasn't a Halloween costume, but it was their dad making funny faces behind a very sweet photo of their mother. It pretty much summed them up, many times.

"He was an idiot," Rachel said.

"That he was," Sarah said, her fingers skimming over the picture through the plastic cover. She touched their mother's face. "But she loved him."

"Unequivocally," Rachel said.

They looked at the other pictures on the page. One of him with them playing on the beach. One of them all hovered over a puzzle, looking through pieces. One of their mother staring off into the distance — their dad had taken that one, Rachel mused, because it had captured the very essence of Lisa Cuddy.

Beautiful, intelligent, classy, and sexy. That was how their father saw their mother.

"Why do you think they never married?

Sarah asked the question as the next page revealed a picture of their parents reclined on the very sofa behind them. Their dad was leaned back in the corner, while their mother lay between his legs, turned slightly to the side, resting against his chest. Her head was on his shoulder but tilted so that they were looking at one another. Their hands were clasped and rested on their mother's belly. They were smiling that secret little smile they often shared.

Rachel remembered taking the picture.

"You think they weren't?" Rachel said, looking over at her sister, who met her gaze. "They may have never walked an aisle or signed a piece of paper, but those things don't make a marriage."

Sarah nodded. "Yes," she said. "Aaron and I were married long before we stood in front of a rabbi."

"I don't think they needed," Rachel continued as her attention returned to the picture. "When you have that," she said, taking in all the details of the image again, "You don't need validation from the outside."

"I love that photo of them," Sarah said then flipped the page, revealing more images of a happy childhood.

Rachel laughed when she saw the picture of them all standing beside a sign for a monster truck rally. A passing stranger had taken it for them. Their mom looked less than enthused, but their dad had looked beyond happy. Sarah sat on his shoulder while Rachel held his hand. They all had obscenely redneck shirts on, and he had on this stupid mesh-backed trucker hat.

Sarah was laughing, too, but for a different reason Rachel realized when she said, "Do you remember your first date?"

Oh boy, did she. The poor boy had shown up to pick her up and she'd opened the door all excited, until her dad had walked out of the living room.

He'd been wearing that hideous hat, mirrored sunglasses, a combat jacket and boots, tree-camo pants, and that damned Marine saber of his father's. He'd had it slung at his hip, and a pistol tucked in the front of his pants, and a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth.

"That boy nearly crapped himself," Sarah said, giggling.

"Then Dad invited him in to talk to him before he let him take his _precious daughter_ out," Rachel said, laughing now at the memory. She hadn't laughed then. "I wanted the Earth to open up and swallow me whole. I was never so glad to see Mom in my life."

Sarah laughed louder. "Do you remember her face when she saw him?"

Her cheeks starting to hurt from smiling, Rachel said, "Oh God, she looked at him like he was from another planet. I think if she hadn't been just as concerned as he'd been, she would have dragged him out of there by his ear."

"I don't know about that. She made me go to the kitchen with her and the entire time she stood next to the door and smirked as Dad laid down the law about curfew," Sarah said. "When she heard the saber come out of the scabbard, she peeked out."

"Oh my God, he sat there and caressed the blade of that thing and told Will, who was already shaking in his shoes, that he'd best keep his hands off _me_ if he wanted to keep _them _attached to his own body," Rachel laughed, adding, "That was our first and only date. He kept like a foot between us at all times."

At the time she'd been heartbroken and not happy with her dad but her mother had explained things to her later. And then he had.

"Daddy's go a little insane when their daughter's start dating," she'd said and Rachel had thought that an understatement. Her dad had reiterated the same sentiment then told her in no uncertain terms, "I was a boy once. I know what they think and how most of them think of girls. I won't have you disrespected." Then he'd offered an apology of sorts, for embarrassing her, but not for protecting her.

It had taken her a little while to get over it and for another boy to ask her out. Turned out that Will had told the other boys that her dad was nuts. The next date had gone better, thankfully. James, had been nothing but respectful and he'd kept his cool when her dad had donned a similar outfit to talk to the boy.

"I seem to recall he did the same to your first date," Rachel said to her sister, who burst out laughing again.

"He wore overalls and a bandolier," she said. "And he had that piece of hay between his teeth, a shotgun leaned up against the wall, and the pistol on the end table by his hand."

"_Fake rotten teeth_," Rachel giggled then asked, "Where the hell did he find hay in Baltimore?"

"Mom got it for him. At the florist," Sarah deadpanned.

They both laughed harder.


	17. Chapter 17

Apologies for the delay in posting this next part. Some things have changed on the home front. I may find myself posting not quite as fast, but don't worry, I haven't abandoned the story :) ... Thank you to all who are reading and for the lovely comments. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Part 17<strong>

Eyes closed, Lisa Cuddy nuzzled into the crook of Greg House's neck as they swayed together to the music playing softly. The fire provided the only light in the living room. It was cozy and romantic, and she was happy.

They'd been on a date, the first in a while. The girls were at Janice's for the weekend, allowing for grownup time. Cuddy was so ready for that. A nine-year-old and a three-year-old had a definite impact on the amount of time she and House had together.

They loved the girls, but sex at home was often interrupted or thwarted altogether before it could get started. An afternoon tryst at her office or a nearby hotel had become fairly common enough for House to suggest they take a small apartment nearby, which she hadn't thought a bad idea considering how much they were paying for a room. But they hadn't done it yet and though they still slept together most nights, they'd both been missing the sharing of physical intimacy at home. And God, just having quiet time together that was more than exhausted sleep in the same bed.

The stress of it had been taking an obvious toll. They managed to keep their tempers in check with the girls, but they'd been growing testy with one another. Especially in the evenings when they were tired from work, which was sometimes all day, for days for House.

That's why Cuddy had made arrangements for them to take a long weekend to decompress and disconnect from everything and concentrate solely on each other. Their needs were important and they didn't want them to get lost amongst taking care of children and patients. Their connection was too important, for themselves and the girls, to neglect.

So they'd started tonight with a dinner cruise and were now ensconced in the warmth and safety of home. She was loving the closeness with him, the ease of it soothing agitated nerves and filling her with contentment. She hummed her happiness when he nuzzled his cheek against her brow.

"Okay?" he asked.

It was solicitous and soft and touched her heart. He sounded happy.

"Mmm-hmm," she replied then drew back and looked up at him.

His gaze held hers a moment before moving over the features of her face. Her heart quivered when his attention settled on her mouth. She closed her eyes as he lowered and touched his lips to hers. So lightly, a grazing that had her wanting more. It always did.

Cuddy pursued that more, steadily from grazing to brushing to pressing to melding into soft, sweet kisses that curled her toes and made her hum her desire for her lover.

God, she'd missed him and this, and fully expected to make that observation more than once in the next seventy-two hours. He was _that_ good. They were _that_ good. She planned on indulging every sensual whim with him and started by tilting her pelvis and bringing it against him.

"I think maybe I should take you upstairs," House breathed as he eased his mouth from hers.

"Or here," she murmured, eyes finding his. "I don't want to wait."

She watched his eyes darken with her words. He clearly had no objections. And if she'd had any doubts about it, they would have disappeared when he stopped their sway and sent his fingers up her back to find the zipper on her little, black dress.

"Yes," she breathed, her body flushing hot. She trembled and took thready breaths as he drew the little tab downward. The soft sound of the teeth separating sent a shiver down her spine and had her making soft sounds of her own, deep in her throat.

"It's been too long," he said, noting how quickly her arousal had spiked.

"Yes," she agreed then let him ease the dress from her body, stripping it up and off. He tossed it aside and she didn't give a damn where it landed or if it got wrinkled. She just wanted all barriers between them gone. She wanted to feel his skin against her own, so much so that his releasing her from her bra caused her breath to catch. He pushed her thong from her hips and she shimmied it down to her feet and kicked it aside.

Then she went for his clothes, managing an appropriately seductive pace even though she wanted to just rip them off him. But he was a beautiful present, just for her and she unwrapped him with due reverence for him, his body, his heart.

She kissed him between removing items of clothing, lips moving softly against his. She caressed him with little strokes of her fingers, to his face and chest and arms. She cupped his erection through his trousers before he led them over to the couch. He sat and she lowered to her knees before him.

She helped him out of his shoes then his pants and boxers. She touched his knees — both flesh and bone, and the prosthetic — then moved her hands up to his hips. She touched his chest and belly then took his sex in hand.

His eyes held hers as she stroked him to further hardness. The blue of his gaze held the measure of his need as surely as her hand did.

Laying her right hand over his heart, she kept a firm, loving grip on his erection with her left while she bent and took him into her mouth.

"Cuddy," he moaned under his breath, an exclamation and acknowledgement.

She echoed the sound around him and felt his hands slide into her hair. Glancing up, she watched him lean back and press his head into the soft cushions of the couch. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively. She took him deep and swallowed, too, her eyes falling shut as she focused on giving him pleasure and taking the power he offered in his surrender.

She loved this with him. She had from the first time she'd done it, in that small, dark apartment in Ann Arbor.

His scent filled her nostrils, his taste her mouth. She could feel his pulse against her tongue and knew exactly how far she could take him before she needed to stop. So she did, repeatedly, and he let her until he couldn't take it any more and pulled her off him.

"Come here," he said, his voice tinged with sexual urgency. She understood that feeling well. Her sex was dripping with her want of him inside her. She rose and together they divested him of the prosthetic and stump sock. Then she straddled him.

He didn't let her take him right away. He spent time coaxing her desire, holding her gaze as he manipulated her body with his hands. Her sex and breasts were his playground. He caressed her, pushing the fingers of his left hand into her and pumping slowly while his right toyed with her nipples.

Dripping became sopping. She panted and moaned. Her hands on his shoulders, she held herself steady as pleasure and need coalesced, making her ache inside and out. She wanted him so much and told him to make her come. He did, bringing her swiftly to orgasm with a skillful stroke of his thumb.

She shattered above him, pitching forward to kiss him as she came. She loved him and whispered the secret of her heart, and her longing.

"I've missed you so much," she panted against his mouth. "I want you in me."

"Yeah," he said and she raised over him as his fingers left her and grasped his erection. He held it for her, offering himself and her heart quivered at the meaning of that.

She covered his hand with hers and held his gaze as she found her angle then took him in. She gasped at the feel of him. It had only been a few days but it felt like years had passed since he'd last filled her.

Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him so softly.

"We can't neglect this any more," she told him as she pressed her brow to his. "It's too important. We _need_ this."

"I know," he rasped with a desperate vulnerability that she also saw in his eyes. _So much love… _for her.

"You are _my love_," she breathed, stroking his cheek, while she gazed into him. "I'm not whole without you."

"I love you," he said in return, so soft and achingly full of the emotion.

"Will you come in me?" she asked even though she already knew the answer.

"Always."

Heart full, Cuddy hovered close as they sought and found their rhythm, their bodies moving in perfect sync until they were both crying out and his seed was flooding her womb.


	18. Chapter 18

**Part 18**

Rachel leaned over the railing and watched the dolphins leap and dive alongside the tour boat. She smiled at the sight and at the memory of the first time she'd seen the graceful mammals in the wild. She had been so excited she'd talked about them the rest of the day, until she was sure her parents had been ready to scream — or not.

For two people with hellish tempers when riled, they were also patient to the extreme. Stupidity was the one thing neither of them had a tolerance for. The rest they managed.

_Or at least mom had_, Rachel mused.

Lisa Cuddy had been the household organizer and official handler of crises. Although her dad always seemed to know when it was time for him to step in — like when Rachel had broken her arm. He'd been calm and steady then, taking care of things while her mother wrestled with maternal worry.

It was yet another metaphorical dance she'd witnessed them doing over the years. They always managed to balance one another, which had made Rachel and Sarah's upbringing more stable than many of Rachel's peers could claim.

Her mother had found that amusing when Rachel made the observation a little over a month ago.

"Everyone always assumed we would destroy each other. Unstoppable force and immovable object. That's how people saw us for a long time," her mother had said from her sick bed. It had been in the last weeks of her life. She'd smiled, but her brilliant gaze had started to dim and her once lithe body had begun increasingly wasting away. She'd stopped the treatments when the futility of them became dramatically apparent.

"It's how we were at times," her mother had confessed. "But we always found our way back to each other. And when he came here," she'd said of Baltimore, "It was like Michigan again. We were just older and a lot smarter. And we had you … and then Sarah. You both made us more than we would have been without you."

Rachel had teared up hearing that and at what her mother had said next.

"I met Greg House in three stages of my adult life. The first paved the way for the last, and everything in between. I loved him through all of them. But it is the last that I have held most dear because it was the fulfillment of decades of promise. And we made a promise to each other to make sure that you and your sister would always know you were loved, by both of us, through our words and actions."

"You did a great job," Rachel had said because she had always felt loved, by both of them. Her mother's response had been characteristically pragmatic.

"We did our best," she'd said then shut her eyes and took a far-too-shallow breath. "Your father was always afraid his best wasn't good enough," she'd whispered then, her eyes finding Rachel's once more. "He was right about so many things in life, but he was absolutely wrong about that one."

"Yes," Rachel had agreed.

"Yes, what?"

Pulled from memory by the question, Rachel looked at her sister, who stood beside her, and smiled gently. "Just remembering something," she said softly.

"Mom or Dad?" Sarah asked.

"Both. But mostly Mom," Rachel said then added playfully, "And dolphins."

Sarah smiled. "They took us on this tour every time we asked."

They had, Rachel mused, and she had video proof of it, which they watched later that evening after returning to the beach house and fixing supper.

They had settled in on the floor again, the coffee table in front of them to hold their plates. Sarah had cooked their dad's gnocchi and Rachel had made the sauce. They had a bottle of red wine chilled and Sarah poured it into their glasses while Rachel put on the video.

They ate and watched, laughing and talking between bites. Most of the clips were from their outdoor adventures in Charleston, playing in the sand and swimming, the boat trips out, and _extreme _golf-carting on the beach. But there were other clips in between of them inside the beach house, playing games and eating, listening to music and watching TV.

Rachel noticed that most of the time she had the camera, or their dad. It seemed their mom had rarely been the photographer. But the few times she had been, the moments she'd captured were the quiet ones that Rachel knew spoke deeply to her mother's love for all of them.

One of those clips featured their dad laying in the bed, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He didn't have his prosthetic on and was sleeping, with Rachel to one side of him and Sarah the other. They were still young. Sarah was maybe two.

The recording had captured her mother's soft breathing as she just watched them, then her words when she whispered, "I can always tell when you're faking it."

At that, one of their dad's eyes opened and he looked directly at the camera.

"I don't fake. I never fake," he said in a stage whisper.

Their mother laughed softly and shushed him.

The clip stopped there and Rachel started to say something to Sarah about how their dad could make anything about sex but stopped when the next clip began and a burst of her mother's laughter filled the room.

Rachel smiled at the sight of her mother's head thrown back while her father watched her with delight. Sarah was sitting in their mother's lap, chewing on a plastic Lincoln Log.

Rachel wished she could remember what her father had said to draw that reaction from her mother. But all she could do was watch as they sat around the very same coffee table that she and her sister were sitting at now.

In the video, her _Candy Land_ game was set up for playing. The little plastic gingerbread men were gathered in one corner of the colorful board.

"Get over here, bilge rat," her dad said, glancing toward the camera. It was set down and Rachel watched her younger self move into view and over to sit with her parents. They began playing the game and the entire thing was captured.

Rachel and Sarah watched quietly. There was something surreal in seeing the entire family in the frame since one of them was usually behind the camera. She found herself blinking back tears at the realization that such an ordinary moment in time could be so perfect and pure.

And so was what came after…

The screen went blank, then came back on again with yet another image of Rachel's younger self moving away from the device, heading down the hall toward the bedroom. Her mother was hot on her tail, telling her to get in bed and stay there and go to sleep. Little Rachel just giggled and ran.

While their mother remained out of sight, the camera continued to record.

Sarah and Rachel watched their dad mill about the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes. He looked tired but happy. She saw him smiling to himself as he pulled a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator and set it and two glasses on the bar. He filled one then came around the bar and sat on one of the stools. He sipped the red liquid from time to time as he waited.

It was a while, but Rachel could faintly hear her mother humming, prompting her to close her eyes and just listen. She didn't open them again, not even when the humming grew louder, until it changed pitch and tapered.

"Wow," Sarah's voice came from beside her.

Inwardly, Rachel said the same as she took in the sight of their parents kissing.

It wasn't the type of kisses Rachel had seen them share over the years. It wasn't light and playful, affectionate lingering, or a familiar, perfunctory peck. It _was_ unabashedly loving and tender and more than a little sensual. And so were the caresses. They were fully clothed and yet, as their dad sat on the stool and their mother stood between his thighs, there was an obvious air of desire about them. But there was also more … reverence.

It was in how they looked at and touched each other. In the soft sounds they made and the breathy, unintelligible whispers just barely picked up by the camera.

It was a stunningly beautiful thing to see and Rachel's breath caught as she watched her mother step back and her father stand. And it caught again when they linked hands and made their way down the darkened hall to their bedroom.

As the door shut behind them, Rachel felt a tear finally slip free.


	19. Chapter 19

**Part 19**

Cuddy held House's hand as they stood over the casket that contained his mother's body. She had died two days earlier from complications following a massive stroke.

He hadn't said much since they'd learned the news. The girls had cried some but Cuddy thought it very possible that their tears were more for House's loss than their own.

Blythe House had not been a significant part of any of their lives, even House's — at least not much beyond his childhood. Cuddy would have liked their daughters to have an involved grandmother but things with Blythe hadn't really changed despite Cuddy and House's hopes.

There had never been an apology, not even an overt acknowledgement of her culpability in the abuse of House as a child. That broke Cuddy's heart. He had forged forward without it, making his life with Cuddy and the girls, but Cuddy knew it would have lifted a burden from him to have had some sign that he meant enough to his mother for her to acknowledge her part in his pain.

_And he would be less confused than he is right now_, Cuddy thought.

His moods had vacillated between anger and frustration and somberness. He hadn't shed any tears yet. But that was coming. It was just a matter of time. Cuddy just wished the other mourners would give him space. They were well-meaning but whenever they approached him he grew tense — and it was stockpiling, which meant it was going to blow at some point.

Considering the biting eulogy for his father, which Wilson had related to her, she worried at how that was going to fall out for his mother.

But Cuddy's worries about that had been assuaged when he stood at the pulpit a pastor had occupied just moments before and spoke very somberly, and briefly, about his mother. She heard the same note of resignation in his voice that had accompanied any conversation about Blythe since that day he'd stopped hoping for healing of their relationship.

Cuddy's worry for him, though… That was not eased. And with good reason, she realized, when she found Vicodin tucked inside the small duffle where he kept the things for his stump care. She'd found it by happenstance. She'd picked up the bag to move it out of the way and heard the distinctive rattling of pills in a prescription bottle.

Her heart broke when she peeked inside the open bag and saw the amber bottle wedged to the side of a stack of stump socks. She shut her eyes and…

"I haven't taken any."

Cuddy looked over to see House coming into their room of the hotel suite. He looked strangely circumspect as he shut the door behind him. He had apparently finished putting the girls down for the night.

"I want to," he confessed as he walked over and sat on the side of the bed. He looked down at the floor and his voice grew strained, circumspection vanishing in an instant, when he confessed again, "I want to, Cuddy."

Setting the bag down, she pulled out the bottle then went and sat beside him. She held out the white-capped amber container to him. He didn't take it but he looked at it and she saw his gaze flare with what she'd call avarice. She'd seen that look before, but not in a very long time. It scared her but she took hope when she saw him fight it off.

"It won't help," he said after a few moments and her heart lifted. There was a time when he wouldn't have admitted that.

Looking at the label, she noted his name was on it as the patient but the prescribing physician was not anyone she knew. She asked him where he'd gotten them, wanting to know if it was through legal means or if he'd nicked someone's prescription pad.

"One of the kids I knew around here growing up. He is a pain physician and has an office in town. I told him I forgot mine at home," he said so timidly.

Looking up, she met his gaze and saw … so many things.

He looked afraid, ashamed, exhausted, grieved, and confused.

"You should count them," he said and the suggestion was unexpected.

Cuddy admitted that it was an impulse to do so but now that he'd said it, she wasn't sure she should. She believed him when he said he hadn't taken any but she didn't want him to think…

"Addicts lie," he said, cutting short her internal debate. "Count them. You need to know."

"I know," she said. And she did know but he pressed her to do it anyway, stating again, soft and earnest, his gaze matching, "You need to _see_. And _I_ need you to know."

The latter sealed the deal for her. She looked back to the bottle then opened it and poured the contents into her hand, enough to do a count. They were all there, just as he'd said, as she'd known. But she admitted to feeling relieved at having looked. He'd been right, as usual.

Once she put the pills back into the bottle and the cap on, he took it from her with gentle fingers. He showed her there were no refills then stood and took it into the bathroom. He uncapped it in full view of her and poured the entire contents into the toilet and flushed it.

He brought her back the bottle so she could feel that it was empty. He showed her his hands, spreading his finger so she'd see he hadn't palmed one. He stripped off his t-shirt then pushed down his pajama bottoms and boxers and stood naked before her in his prosthetic, so she could see he hadn't tucked it into his clothing.

When he sat beside her and she looked at him, he started to open his mouth for her to check but she stopped him with a touch to his cheek.

She did it to stop his pain and her own. It was absolute torture to see him go through those steps to reassure her. She understood why he needed to do it and a part of her appreciated his forthrightness. But another part of her was shattering with each one. She needed to stop that and ease the fear she saw running rampant in his gaze. It was an old one.

"I believe you," she whispered, hoping to reassure him now. "We'll deal with it."

He looked down and away when she said the latter. Contrition, not shame this time. She was glad of the difference but she didn't want him to look away.

Caressing him gently, her thumb tracing a slow arc across his cheek, she told him to look at her. He did and she searched those beautiful blue eyes for his love, wanting and needing to see that. And when she did…

"I love you," she breathed. "And the girls love you. You're not alone with any of this."

He gave a little nod then looked deeply confused.

"What am I supposed to feel?"

"About your mother?" she asked for confirmation of what she suspected.

"Yes."

"I don't think there's a roadmap for that," she said softly, compassionately. "We both know what people would say the ideal is but that doesn't make your feelings less valid if they are different."

"I didn't hate her," he said.

"You loved her the best way you knew how," she said in return. "She knew that. And she knew what she'd done to your relationship with her. I believe she would find your confusion understandable, even if she might wish otherwise."

He looked away from her then and she let him have the silence that fell between him. She smiled, though, when he finally spoke again and asked a question.

"Is it weird that I want to make love with you?"

"No," she said softly. "It's perfectly normal to want and need a connection right now, and to disconnect from the other things."

The latter was why he reached for the Vicodin, and he knew it as well as she did. Now he was reaching for sex instead. A part of her hurt that he hadn't turned to her first but, sadly, she understood the disease of addiction all too well and that it had been his escape for more than a decade — the time they hadn't been together as they were now.

"Will you?" he asked, his gaze finding hers again.

She smiled gently at him. "Do you remember what you said that night when my dad died, after you'd put me to bed and I asked you to stay? 'You'll ask tonight and I won't be able to say no.'."

At her response, an expression of fondness descended on his features.

"I wouldn't have been able to," he confessed yet again.

She laid her hand over his heart and whispered softly.

"And I can't and won't now."

His vulnerability was fully on display at her declaration.

"I need you, Cuddy," he said earnestly. "I need the girls. I don't need the Vicodin."

Cuddy's' heart leapt in her breast with joy.

"I know," she breathed then leaned toward him to meet him for a kiss.


	20. Chapter 20

**Part 20**

While a tearful Sarah talked to her husband on the phone, Rachel slipped outside and went down to the beach to find her own solace.

She and her sister had been on the verge of a good cry when Aaron had called. The home videos had been both heartwarming and grief-stirring, as she'd expected. But it was also cathartic and why she'd brought them here, and why she'd suggested this time away for them, just as sisters.

Rachel undeniably missed her parents. There was a deep ache in her heart whenever she thought of them. It was keenest in regards to her mother but she still missed her father terribly. Especially tonight.

As she sat in the sand, Rachel found herself wishing she was a little girl again and that her daddy was still here. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into his lap and wrap her arms around his neck and cry. She knew he'd hold her tight and kiss her hair and tell her everything was going to be okay — even if it wasn't — and she would believe him.

She knew things were going to be okay, of course. She was an adult and a doctor. She understood that life went on even after losing a pillar of one's existence.

After her father had passed, their mother had been devastated but she'd been there for Rachel and Sarah. And they had been there for her. But now Rachel and Sarah had only each other.

Rachel was profoundly grateful for that. She could not imagine going through this without someone she could share memories with, who would cherish what they'd had as a family as much as she did. With whom she could talk about the wonderful and unique people her parents were and comprehend the beauty of what they had shared.

Fiery spirit and steely determination. Fierce intelligence and unfathomable gentleness. Pragmatism, seriousness, and silliness. And love, underpinning everything.

_And what a beautiful love._

Rachel had not seen her parents before quite like she'd seen them tonight. The camera had captured a moment that had been theirs and theirs alone, how they were when no one was looking. It had been such a delicate display that eloquently conveyed the depth of their feelings for one another.

If Rachel ever committed to someone, she wanted it to be with that degree of love and devotion. Nothing less.

She'd once asked her father why he'd fallen in love with her mother. He'd looked at her like she was nuts and said, "Who wouldn't?"

Rachel had laughed but asked him to be serious.

"I am," he'd said, "But you apparently want specifics."

She'd just smiled at him and he'd held her gaze intently when he gave them. They'd been in the study upstairs, sitting on the couch. He'd been tuning a guitar, but he set it aside as he answered her question.

"She was beautiful, sexy, intelligent, and funny," he said with incredible candor then added, his voice soft, "But she was more than those things and I saw it."

"What did you see?"

He'd smiled gently at Rachel and said on a breath, "_Her._"

For a split-second, her sixteen-year-old self had thought he was joking but the look in his eyes told her he'd meant it. And he'd seen her confusion, trying to grasp what he was telling her.

"Some things cannot be explained with words, bilge rat," he'd said, gaze still holding hers, "Your mother is one of those things. She just _is_ and I loved her from the moment I saw _her_. I will always love her."

Rachel had braved a question then, about the only other woman she knew her father had loved. They'd seen her occasionally. "And Stacy?"

Her dad had looked away for a moment before answering. "I loved her, too," he confessed, "But it was different. She was different."

"How?"

"She didn't see _me_," he'd said. "So she couldn't love me the way I wanted to love her. And I could never love her the way I loved your mother."

That answer had really confused her, and he'd seen it again.

"Don't expect to understand everything now, kid. You've got years to sort it all out," he'd said with a gentle smile, then reached and touched her cheek and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Just remember that if he doesn't see you, then he doesn't deserve you … and he never will."

Closing her eyes, Rachel could almost feel her father's touch and see the icy warmth of his gaze. She'd had those years and she'd found understanding in time, just as he'd said. She at least knew what love wasn't, and she'd learned that even attempting to settle for less could bring only limited happiness, and never give her what she needed or deserved.

Her mother had confirmed that for Rachel after she'd fallen in love for the first time and found the man ultimately loved her infinitely less than she'd cared for him. It had been a painful lesson.

She'd wanted her daddy then, too, but her mother had given her the comfort she needed. She'd consoled her then said with a smile after Rachel mentioned wishing he was there, "Honey, your father would probably be in jail right now."

Rachel smiled at the memory and let the warmth and humor of the moment push aside her grief. Her tears stemmed and the ocean breeze dried the remains of them. They had all but vanished by the time Sarah found her.

"You okay?" her sister asked as she sat beside her.

"Yes," Rachel said and it was the truth. Her heart hurt but she was okay.


	21. Chapter 21

**Part 21**

Lisa Cuddy noticed the flicker of firelight in the front window of her home as she parked in her usual space.

It was cold out and had been raining most of the day. A steady drizzle was coming down now and she was eager to get inside where it was warm, especially now that she knew there was a kindled fire in the hearth.

Considering she was coming in late, thanks to an overly long meeting for a charity board she served on, she also was thinking there might be a little adult time on tap for the night. The girls' bedtime was a half-hour ago, prompting visions of House waiting for her in the living room with a couple glasses of wine. He'd done it before and the thought of it now was enough to have her moving a little faster as she grabbed her briefcase out of the back seat then made her way to the door.

Cuddy's hopes were dashed — albeit in the most adorable way possible — when she entered the living room.

Two tents were erected in the middle of the room and House was sitting in front of the fireplace with the girls, roasting hot dogs. A bag of marshmallows was nearby. Mugs, which she suspected held hot chocolate, were also on the hearth. And, to her delight, a bottle of wine sat chilling away from the direct heat of the fire.

"Mommy!"

It was said in unison by the two brown-haired girls flanking the grown man, who was wearing a red plaid, flannel shirt. She had no idea where he'd gotten that from, but the hat, she'd seen before. She couldn't believe he still had that from when they were in Michigan. But he did and he pulled it out now and again because, for some reason, he thought it was a disguise.

Cuddy smiled at the girls as they handed off their hotdogs to House and came running to her.

"We're camping," nine-year-old Rachel stated the obvious as three-year-old Sarah held her arms out to be picked up. Cuddy picked her up and held out an arm to Rachel for a hug. She was getting big.

"Daddy said you can have a bathroom," Sarah said, eyes big and blue and bright.

Cuddy looked over at House and found him occupied with keeping the three hot dogs out of the fire. When he'd suggested camping a few weeks back, she'd nixed it, refusing to stay anywhere there wasn't plumbing. Apparently, this was the compromise. Camping at home. That she could live with — and enjoy.

"Yes," Cuddy laughed and kissed Sarah on the cheek before setting her back on her feet. "Go help Daddy," she told the girls. "I'll go change."

"Hurry back, Honey Buns," House said as she ascended the stairs.

Smiling, Cuddy ditched her work clothes and shoes and sought out her _party pants_ and a t-shirt. She pulled on a pair of socks, too, before joining the campout.

She settled on the floor next to Sarah who was waiting for House to help her take her hot dog off the stick and put it into a bun. She took over but glanced up at House as she did.

He looked so incredibly happy as he helped Rachel. It wasn't the little smile he wore that made her think that, but the utter peace he exuded as he spent time with his girls.

And they were _his_ girls. They loved Cuddy, of that she had no doubt. But they adored House, and so did she. And she showed him later, kissing him soft and slow as they lay in their tent after the girls had finally quieted and fallen asleep in their own.

"You've had fun tonight," he whispered as he nuzzled his way down to the curve of her neck.

"Yes," she breathed, slipping her fingers into his hair. She smiled when she observed, "This was the last thing I expected to come home to."

She felt his smirk amidst the burn of his whiskers. "If the Cuddy won't go to the camping…" he murmured against her skin.

"… the camping will come to the Cuddy," she finished for him, laughing softly and delighting in the broadening of his smile against her skin. And the kisses that followed.

"I should have done this more over the years," she told him.

"Sex. Definitely," he said.

"That's not what I meant," she said but smirked. "But, yes, that, too."

He hummed against her throat, then nuzzled his way up near her ear. "Yes, that, too," he echoed softly. "We had fun in Michigan."

"We had _a lot_ of fun in Michigan." Cuddy gently skimmed her fingers down the back of his neck to his back. He had taken the lumberjack shirt off and was now wearing just a t-shirt — with a picture of Bigfoot on it. She smiled. "You are a lot of fun."

"So are you," he said, raising up over her.

"I haven't always been," she said, meeting his gaze.

"Neither have I, Cuddy," he absolved her then grinned. "Unlike the Little Cuddys."

"Don't you mean Houses?"

He had officially adopted Rachel as they finalized the adoption with Sarah.

"Only if the city doesn't charge us property tax for being a suburb."

Cuddy laughed softly. "Cuddy-Houses?" she suggested.

"Sounds like an exotic disease," he said.

"One of those ones you find cool?"

"Definitely," he smiled. "All the Cuddys are cool," he said, then softer, "I love all the Cuddys. In this house."

Cuddy's heart skipped a beat. She touched his cheek and searched his eyes when she replied.

"Trust me, House, that feeling is entirely mutual. From all the Cuddys. In this house."

His gaze flickered and she saw his heart and the love he confessed moments ago. Then he was smiling again and bowing with a whisper.

"Think you can be quiet?"

"I can try," she breathed with a smile of her own.

She shut her eyes when his lips touched hers.


	22. Chapter 22

**Part 22**

"Blanket forts."

Rachel smiled as she tossed the ball back to Sarah. They were sitting on the deck in the shade naming off fun things they could remember from their childhood. There was a lot. Some of them associated with their mom. Some with their dad. Some with both their parents. The tennis ball had been one of their father's. It was worn from being bounced off walls and spun in his hand.

"Those were a lot of fun," Sarah said then pitched the ball back to Rachel, whose lounger was several feet away. "Rollerskating."

Catching the ball, Rachel asked, "Did Mom ever tell you that Dad taught her basic physics at a skating rink?"

"And she taught him to skate," Sarah beamed.

The ball crossed over to Sarah again. "Music lessons."

Sarah gave her a look of mock disgust. "I had no aptitude for it. I hated the lessons."

"Which is why he taught you cooking. And you're better at that than I am," Rachel said then held up her hands to catch the ball.

"Deep dish pizza and Skeeball," Sarah said.

"That place still has the best pizza," Rachel said, remembering that they'd often eaten at the local eatery not far from their home.

"You can get better in Chicago," Sarah said.

Rachel conceded with a smirk, "I'll give you that, but it's still really good. For Baltimore."

"Agreed." Sarah held up her hands to catch the next toss.

"Snowball fights," Rachel grinned, remembering how much their father had loved those, and how much they'd all loved it when their mother would join in.

"Monster truck rallies," Sarah laughed and Rachel did, too.

"Oh God, Mom hated those," she said. "I think it mortified her that we liked them."

"Mom said he was a Svengali over us when it came to his pop-culture and redneck interests," Sarah replied.

"Oh, she didn't stand a chance," Rachel agreed. "But I always suspected that she secretly liked it because he'd had the same effect on her when they were in college."

"Well, maybe not the redneck stuff," Sarah smirked. "But definitely the crazy and fun stuff."

"Laser tag!" Rachel said then tossed the ball back to Sarah.

"You were better at that than me," Sarah said and passed the ball again. "I liked go-karts."

"Mom was great at go-karts," Rachel remembered, and that her mother often let them win by blocking any grownups that tried to outrun them.

Sarah giggled. "She got us thrown out of that one place in Florida."

"Dad got them thrown out of one in Princeton," Rachel said, remembering a story about a double date. She pitched the ball back to Sarah. "Pirate cruises on the bay."

"That was your thing with Dad, but I did like them," Sarah said.

"He was thrilled that you did," Rachel said then gave her sister an adoring look. "And so was I."

"I know," Sara said then returned to the list. "Makeup parties."

Rachel caught the ball. "Dad didn't like those so much," she said with a grin, remembering how he'd tolerated them consistently coming up with ways to cover his bald spot — wigs, hats, napkins. He'd drawn the line on the makeup itself, and their mother had told them to not push it when he'd eventually retreat to his office upstairs. She'd kept playing with them though.

"Bedtime stories," Rachel said and Sarah quickly countered, "Lullabies."

Ball back in hand quickly, Rachel sighed happily, "You know we could do this until our arms fall off?"

"That's a good thing," Sarah said.

"Yes," Rachel replied.

Sarah smiled wistfully. "I think that would make them very happy."

Rachel nodded as she mirrored her sister's expression.

"I know it would," she said softly. "Without a doubt."


	23. Chapter 23

**Part 23**

From the deck of their Charleston beach home, Lisa Cuddy watched her daughters walk along the beach.

Seventeen and nearly twenty-three. Long, brown hair pulled into ponytails. Bright, blue eyes. Beautiful and smart. And blessedly well-adjusted.

"Who would have guessed?" she said softly to herself, and to the man she wished was still with them all.

Cuddy ached at the thought of him. She felt like there was a big hole in her and that people should be able to see it. And in the girls. They were as devastated by House's death as Cuddy was, in their own ways.

Only twice in her life had Cuddy cursed the age gap between her and House. This was the second. She'd do anything to have another ten years with him. She'd even take another ten minutes. Long enough to kiss him and tell him she loved him one more time.

Closing her eyes, she remembered them kissing and cuddling in bed before they fell asleep that night. Declarations of love had been the last words they'd spoken and she was so thankful for that because there'd been no warning of his departure beyond his having felt more tired than usual in the days preceding.

Looking out at her girls again, she saw them wading into the surf and tossing handfuls of water at one another. She smiled at the sight and in spite of her heartbreak and the knowledge that they were going to miss him in ways they couldn't even comprehend now. Cuddy knew only because she'd lost her father when she'd been little older than Sarah.

But they would be okay. House had given them beautiful memories to cherish for the rest of their lives. He would always be in their hearts and minds, just as he was in hers. Different, but there.

Partner. Lover. Friend. Father. Son. Doctor. Genius. Idiot. Ass.

_Pain in my ass_, Cuddy mused.

He had been so many things and had touched every life that crossed his path — none more radically than those whose lives his medical genius had saved, and none more profoundly and thoroughly than Cuddy and their girls.

The latter had been the most important to him. He had never expected to be loved or accepted for more than what his intellect had to offer. But he had been, very much so. And he'd known it, even if it'd taken him a while to comprehend why and accept it wholly for himself.

Watching his pain be replaced with happiness, the darkness within become a beautiful light had given Cuddy more joy than anyone would ever understand because she'd known him like no one else.

Tears forming, Cuddy slipped back under the shade of the eve and resumed her seat on the cushioned, teak couch. She lost herself in precious memories until the girls returned.

They were wet from the water and grabbed up their towels as they joined her on the deck.

"How's the water?" she asked.

"Cool, but not too bad," Rachel answered.

Sarah just shrugged. Of the girls, she was the one taking House's loss the hardest, at least visibly. Rachel was better at concealing her feelings. Age was part of that, but she'd also picked up a few tricks from Cuddy and House over the years. And she was trying to be strong for her sister and her mother.

Cuddy gave her a knowing smile and patted the cushion beside her, urging them to sit. Rachel let Sarah sit closest after exchanging a glance with her mother.

_So empathetic. _She always had been.

"Do you want to go down to the grill for lunch?" she asked.

"Sounds good," Rachel said and they both watched Sarah nod.

After the girls dressed, they all walked down to the grill, holding hands. They ordered and ate, none of them really daring to touch small-talk in public. That always led to thoughts and mentions of House and those led to tears.

It was going to be that way for a while for all of them.

They spent the afternoon out on the deck reading and sunbathing. They ate supper in. The girls cooked. They had picked up House's knack in the kitchen, whereas Cuddy remained an adequate cook at best.

The mood of the evening was subdued. They watched a movie that was supposed to be funny, but they'd laughed little. After the film was over, the girls wanted to turn in so they did.

Cuddy wished they hadn't. Nighttime was the worst for her. But she went anyway, taking a long, hot shower before stretching out atop the covers wearing one of House's t-shirts and a pair of shorts.

Tears came. There was too much room in the bed. She pulled the pillow that had been House's into her arms and hugged it close as she watched the curtains dance on the breeze.

Between Michigan, Princeton, and Baltimore, she'd spent most of her adult life in his orbit in some form or another. The last seventeen, she'd been his fully committed partner and lover. They'd had their ups and downs but overall they'd been happy and at peace, but all those years weren't enough. She wanted more.

"It wasn't enough time, House," she whispered but wasn't entirely sure that even forever would have been enough for her.

If he was with her, he'd kiss her and make love to her. She physically ached at the mere thought of it but resigned herself to feeling that for the rest of her life because she would never be able to give herself to anyone else. Not even casually.

Cuddy smiled ruefully even as she cursed him inwardly, _You completely ruined me, you bastard, and I love you for it. I always have. Even the times when I hated it._

With a sniffling sigh, Cuddy nuzzled her cheek against the pillow. Her tears had already created a wet spot. She didn't care. There were more important things to care about.

Her daughters.

They had been their father's pride where she had been his joy. They were adrift like she was, trying to reorient themselves to a world without him in it. She wondered if he had ever really comprehended how central he had been to their existence.

It was going to take them all time to adjust.

Rachel, Cuddy thought, would probably handle it better than either she or Sarah. And it wasn't because she'd been out of the house for the last few years. But because she had always been the most adaptable of all of them.

Sarah wasn't fragile but she was a lot younger and House had been a part of her daily life still.

As for herself, Cuddy was astounded that she was able to hold herself together at all. But she shouldn't be surprised, according to House. He had always told her she was the strongest of them and the most determined person he'd ever known.

"You always do what is needed, Cuddy. You endure against all odds, with resolve and grace," he'd once told her when the girls were going through a rebellious spurt. "It made you a great hospital administrator, and it's what makes you an even greater mother. Our girls are lucky to have you."

She had been so touched by those words, and they touched her still. In the memory of them she found both solace and strength as she prepared to be a single mother again, to be who her girls needed now. Her own grief, she would manage in private. She just wished she didn't have to. But wishing…

"Momma?"

Turning over, Cuddy saw Sarah standing in the door, and Rachel lurking behind her. So expectant, needing her…

"Come on," Cuddy said softly, tears slipping quietly down her cheeks as she pushed the pillow up to make room for her girls.

Sarah lay in front of her and she cuddled her close while Rachel crawled into bed behind her. She wrapped her arm around Cuddy's waist and pressed her cheek to Cuddy's shoulder.

Cuddy told them she loved them and that everything would be okay.

It wouldn't be the same. But they would be okay.

They had to be.

Because House would want them to be.

And so would she, when her time came.


	24. Chapter 24

This part marks the final chapter in Sisters. Thanks to all those who reading and for the lovely comment. Thank you also to my beta readers. You are always appreciated.

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><p><strong>Part 24<strong>

Rachel thew her head back and laughed aloud at the sight of Sarah dancing and lip-syncing in the middle of the living room of the beach house.

They'd moved the coffee table out of the way to free up the space for a private dance party. The table was littered with their dad's vintage albums. Currently playing was the Commodores' _Brick House_.

And Sarah was giving it all she got. Unable to stay on the sideline, Rachel hopped up and faced off, alternating refrains then both taking on the chorus.

If their parents could see them, they'd be laughing. Their dad would probably be plugged into an amp with his electric guitar and their mother would have been dancing with them, for him, or sitting somewhere she could see all of them and just bask in their happiness.

This_ was her final gift to us, _Rachel realized. In the wake of their father's death, she'd encouraged them to celebrate the joy he'd brought them all. It had been reflex in the wake of her own. To celebrate them both.

The thought made Rachel smile even brighter and when the song ended, she quickly made her way over to the stereo and put on the next album and track she had lined up.

_Still The One _by Orleans.

And the next.

_Soul Man_ by Sam & Dave.

_Honky Tonk Women_ by The Rolling Stones.

Then _Creeque Alley_ by The Mamas & The Papas.

Rachel grabbed her guitar for that one and the next — Credence Clearwater Revival's _Bad Moon Rising_ — and strummed along as Sarah sang.

It was dancing and singing time again when she put on Sister Sledge's _We Are Family_ and Marvin Gaye's _Ain't No Mountain High Enough_.

Memories of dance nights when she'd been a girl assailed her with each note. Dancing and singing with Sarah. Dancing and singing with her mother. Watching her father play the guitar or piano. So many, many memories. Each one precious.

Cream's _Sunshine of Your Love_ made her long to see her father playing one of his electric guitars. He'd taught her to play the companion bass.

Ray Charles' _What'd I Say_ unleashed even more memories. She'd heard her dad play that song so many times, usually to entertain her and Sarah and their cousins. Closing her eyes as she danced, Rachel pictured him making funny faces while he sang the few lyrics and his fingers danced smoothly across the keyboard.

Charles' _Hallelujah, I Love Her So_ brought to mind her mother and how her father had always looked at her when he played it. And how her mother had looked at him. Love. Just love and love and love.

Rachel was drawn from memory when Sarah caught her hand. Rachel let her spin her around then returned the favor. In her sister's eyes, Rachel saw the same nostalgia she felt.

She smiled and danced for the next couple of hours, queuing up song after song after song. Then she put on the one she'd saved for last, knowing the memories it would stir.

_I've Got You, Babe._

It had been their parent's unofficial song. When their mother told them the reason why, they'd both loved the story. It had given them a playful and beautiful glimpse into their parents' history, and explained their mother's reaction to the costume he'd worn that one Halloween.

Walking up to Sarah, Rachel offered to lead her in a dance. Her sister accepted and they sang, laughing and smiling, as they swayed and stepped their way around the makeshift dance floor.

When the song ended, Rachel just wrapped Sarah in her arms and held on. Her embrace was returned and she felt loved.

From the past and in the present.

Rachel felt it again the following morning as she and Sarah hugged before her sister headed back to Baltimore.

"I'm glad we did this," Sarah said, her cheek pressed against Rachel's.

Rachel was, too. "They would have wanted us to," she said softly then eased back.

Her sister's eyes were glassy with tears and her own gaze was watery.

"You'll be back on Sunday?"

Rachel nodded. "I'll close everything up tomorrow and catch my flight on Sunday morning."

"Want us to meet you at the airport?"

"I'd like that," Rachel said softly.

Sarah smiled at her then hugged her again.

"I love you, Rachel."

"I love you, Sarah."


End file.
